


Watching BBC's Sherlock

by CSP2708



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BBC, Characters Watching Sherlock (TV), Episodes, Post-Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Teased Fanships, Watching, reactions, transcript
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:02:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 62
Words: 338,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24962716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CSP2708/pseuds/CSP2708
Summary: After Sherlock's death, everyone is a bit torn up. Molly and Mycroft share a secret. John and Mrs. Hudson stand in front of the shiny black grave, tears of sorrow blurring their eyes. Lestrade, Anderson, and Donovan, though less downcast, still feel remorse over the death of the infamous consulting detective. What happens when they are all transported to a cinema to watch the life of the "late" great Sherlock Holmes?
Comments: 48
Kudos: 109





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> All transcripts written by Ariane DeVere a.k.a. Callie Sullivan

In the back of a taxi, John and Mrs. Hudson sat in silence. The streets flew by in a blur outside as the taxi took an unfamiliar route to a place where John doesn’t often go: the graveyard. In her hands, Mrs. Hudson held a bouquet of flowers – bright flowers – something that Sherlock wouldn’t possibly have welcomed, but…he wasn’t around anymore to say otherwise.

Soon, they arrived at their destination. The taxi stopped. All at once, it had seemed like the shortest, but also the longest taxi ride that John Watson had ever been in. He was frozen in the back of the car, eyes focused ahead of him. Only when Mrs. Hudson nudged his arm through the open door, did he pull himself out of the vehicle and John took the first step towards the grave of his dead friend. He paused, only turning back to pay the cabbie.

Not long afterward, John and Ms. Hudson stood before the gleaming black headstone which marked Sherlock Holmes’ final resting place. It would remain the same forevermore, only stained by the hands of time as the years went by. Today, however, there were flowers resting at its base. The only bouquet that the great Sherlock would ever receive.

John almost laughed, because Sherlock wouldn’t have even wanted the one bouquet, but the pain in his chest was too great.

“There’s all the stuff, all the science equipment. I left in all in boxes. I don’t know what needs doing. I thought I’d take it to a school,” Mrs. Hudson said. She turned, letting her eyes rise to meet John’s face. “Would you…?” she began to ask, but John stopped her with a shake of his head.

“I can’t go back to the flat again – not at the moment,” he said dismissively.

Mrs. Hudson took his arm sympathetically.

“I’m angry,” John continued, taking a deep breath through his nose. He was trying not to break down, as Mrs. Hudson could see.

She gently patted his arm. “It’s okay, John. There’s nothing unusual in that. That’s the way he made everyone feel.” Her eyes flickered back to the smooth black marble, reading the only lettering on the headstone once more. _‘SHERLOCK HOLMES’_. “All the marks on my table; and the noise – firing guns at half past one in the morning!” she exclaimed, reminiscing.

“Yeah,” John said.

“Bloody specimens in my fridge. Imagine – keeping bodies where there’s food!”

“Yes.”

John closed his eyes as Mrs. Hudson continued, her voice breaking, “And the fighting! Drove me up the wall with all his carryings-on!”

John turned to her, finally. “Yeah, listen: I-I’m not actually that angry, okay?” he asked, slightly taken aback by the anger that the usually calm woman was presenting.

“Okay,” Mrs. Hudson said, turning away from him, “I’ll leave you alone to, erm…” her voice broke away, “…you know.” Crying, she walked away, fishing a tissue out of her pocket and blowing her nose.

John looked down at the grave, drawing in a deep breath. Looking back over his shoulder, he waited until Mrs. Hudson was out of earshot before he spoke. John turned back to the grave, clearing his throat.

Once he’d gotten himself back together, he looked down at the grave and said, “You…you told me once that you weren’t a hero. Umm…there were times I didn’t even think you were human, but let me tell you this: you were the best man, and the most human…human being that I’ve ever known and no-one will ever convince me that you told me a lie, and so… There.”

He proceeded to blow out a breath, letting a whimper pass his lips. Looking over his shoulder again, just to check that no one was watching, he took a few steps forward, resting his fingertips on the top of the headstone.

“I was so alone, and I owe you so much. Okay.” Standing, he went to turn away but stopped himself. “No, please, there’s just one more thing, mate, one more thing: one more miracle, Sherlock, for me. Don’t…be…” His voice broke as his eyes filled with tears. “…dead. Would you do…? Just for me, just stop it.” He gestured to the grave, to the freshly shovelled dirt beneath his feet. “Stop this.”

When no answer came to him from the grave, he stood once more, a final time, and walked away, following Mrs. Hudson back to where the taxi was waiting.

Catching up to the woman at the entrance of the graveyard, John went to open the gate, but never got the chance. In front of his eyes, everything turned white, his eyes burning from the intense light. All he felt was Mrs. Hudson’s hand grabbing his, her voice crying out: “Oh dear! What is happening?”

Then, there was nothing.

***

“See?” Donovan said as she and Anderson walked into the Detective Inspector’s office. “I told you he was a fraud. Gone on a proved it, now hasn’t he? The Freak. The truth comes out, and he’s committed suicide. He’s dead, but good riddance! He’s had that coming for years!”

Next to her, Anderson wasn’t as vocal. He was staring at the floor, his eyes searching the carpet as if it held the answers to life itself.

At his desk, Lestrade was in a similar situation. His index and thumb were massaging his temple, something he often did while nursing a headache, or, when he was out of his depth and he knew it.

Lestrade sighed. Looking up at the woman in front of him, he spoke: “Sgt. Donovan, it just doesn’t seem like him. No matter who you are, you can’t pull something like this off for so long. So, maybe he did fake a few of his cases, but why would he go and jump of a building for it? I’ve known Sherlock for years, and this isn’t something that he would do.”

“You never really knew him at all! He went and fooled us, so how would you know what he was really like?”

“Look, there are just some things that you can’t fake,” Lestrade answered.

Donovan huffed. She turned to the forensic scientist who was standing next to her. “How about you, Anderson? You’ve been awful quiet.”

Anderson hummed his acknowledgement of her statement but took a few more seconds before looking up. “As much as I hated the guy, I didn’t want to see him dead. He got a lot of cases done that we couldn’t do ourselves, I’ll admit that. There are some that I’m certain he didn’t commit himself that he solved, so he couldn’t have been completely a fraud.”

Donovan threw her hands up into the air in frustration, but Anderson wasn’t done yet.

“And even if he was responsible for everything, he’d still have to have been a genius to pull off the charade for so long.”

Seeing that he was done, Donovan opened her mouth to retort, but before she got the chance, the office lit up in a brilliant light. All three officers snapped their eyes shut, bringing their hands up to shield their faces.

*******

John and Mrs. Hudson reappeared in a room. It was dimly lit and had no windows, but there was a single door to the right, next to a light switch. There was a television mounted on the wall – a large one like in the theatres – but otherwise, the walls were bare.

Seconds later, there was another flash, dimmer than the last, and as it faded, the room had gained three new occupants.

“What are we doing here?” Greg Lestrade asked as soon as he saw the difference in their location. “How did we get here?” He turned to Anderson, then to Donovan, then to John and Mrs. Hudson. Everyone shrugged in reply to his questions.

“We’re just as clueless about our situation as you, but if I were to guess-”

John was cut off as another light shone, this time, bringing only two more. Molly and Mycroft stood side by side, seemingly having been in a conversation, but as soon as they’d arrived, they stopped. Molly looked around, quite surprised, but Mycroft was better at masking his emotions. His eyes scanned the room, something so much like Sherlock that John’s chest ached.

“We seem to have been transported to a theatre. How, I could not say,” Mycroft said. “To watch…” he paused, walking over to the side of the room opposite the television, bringing everyone’s attention to the couches and single coffee table. He picked up a remote – which was the only small item in the room. “Well, why don’t we see what we’re here to watch?”

Pointing the remote to the television, Mycroft pressed the _‘on’_ switch, causing the machine to burst to life. On it, white words appeared on the otherwise black screen.

 _“Welcome,”_ the words read. _“You are here to watch the life of the late great Sherlock Holmes and his partner, John Watson. Enjoy delving into the world’s only consulting detective’s deepest thoughts. Hopefully, then, you’ll understand.”_

John read the words aloud, his eyebrows furrowing. “What…?” he asked, “How…?” His voice trailed off as the screen went black again.

“Is this the freak’s doing?” Donovan asked, her tone angry. God, she loathed that Sherlock Holmes. For years, she’d wished he was out of her life, and now that he was, she thought that she was rid of him, but he just kept coming back to haunt her.

“Might as well watch, since we’re locked in here,” Lestrade said, having just walked over to the door to check it.

Together, the seven associates of William Sherlock Scott Holmes sat, their eyes focused on the screen, all still wondering who had brought them to this place, and how things would play out.

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	2. 1x1 Part 1 - A Study in Pink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Episode written by Steven Moffat  
> Transcript by Ariane DeVere a.k.a. Callie Sullivan. (Last updated 12, October 2015)

The screen was alight again, images flashing the whole of the television, vivid and horrifying.

**In a bedsit, somewhere in London, John Watson is having a nightmare.**

“What’s this? I thought we were watching something about the freak?” Donovan asked.

All eyes turned to John, who was watching, his eyes focused on the screen. “I think…this was right around the time that I met him. I can’t really tell. I had a lot of nightmares around then.” His voice was quiet, but it held the attention of the others in the room. He was met with sympathy before everyone turned back to the screen.

**He is reliving his army days and his team is under fire, somewhere abroad. A colleague cries out his name as the gunfire rages on around them. Finally, he jolts awake, distressed and panic-stricken. He sits up in bed wide-eyed and breathing heavily until he realizes that he is safe and a long way from the war. Flopping back onto his pillow, he tries to calm his breathing as he continues to be haunted by his memories. Eventually, unable to stop himself, he begins to weep.**

“Oh, John dear,” Mrs. Hudson said, wrapping her bony arms around the veteran.

“I’m okay, Mrs. Hudson, really. I haven’t had nightmares about the war in years. Sherlock would always keep me too busy with his cases…” John’s gaze fell to the floor.

**Sometime later, he has sat up on the side of the bed and switched on the bedside lamp. It’s still dark outside. John sits quietly, wrapped up in his thoughts, and looks across to the desk on the other side of the room. A metal walking cane is leaning against the desk. He looks at it unhappily, then continues to gaze into the distance. He will not be sleeping again tonight.**

*****

**It’s daytime. The sun has finally risen and John, now wearing a housecoat over his nightwear, hobbles across the room, leaning heavily on his cane.**

“And to think that you once needed that silly thing to walk, John. You’ve come so far,” Mrs. Hudson said proudly, patting the man on the shoulder.

“Mrs. Hudson…” John complained, embarrassed by the old woman’s antics.

**In his other hand, he has a mug of tea and an apple, both of which he puts down onto the desk. The mug bears the arms of the Royal Army Medical Corps. Sitting down, he opens the drawer in the desk to get his laptop. As he lifts the computer out of the drawer, there is a clear view that he also has a pistol in the drawer. Putting the laptop onto the desk and opening the lid he looks at the webpage which has automatically loaded. It reads, “The personal blog of Dr. John H. Watson”. The rest of the page is blank.**

“Writer’s block, John?” Lestrade asked, turning to the doctor.

“No. Just nothing to write about. I’d just come back from the war, and I didn’t have anything to write about. At least, anything that people would be interested in,” John replied with a shrug.

**Later he is at his psychotherapist’s office. John sits in a chair opposite her.**

**ELLA: How’s your blog going?**

**JOHN: Yeah, good. (He clears his throat awkwardly.) Very good.**

“You know, John, you are a terrible liar,” Molly pointed out.

**ELLA: You haven’t written a word, have you?**

**JOHN (pointing to Ella’s notepad on her lap): You just wrote, “Still has trust issues.”**

**ELLA: And you read my writing upside down. D’you see what I mean?**

“She had a point,” John admitted.

**John smiles awkwardly.**

**ELLA: John, you’re a soldier, and it’s gonna take you a while to adjust to civilian life, and writing a blog about everything that happens to you will honestly help you.**

**John gazes back at her, his face full of despair.**

**JOHN: Nothing happens to me.**

“Just you wait, Dr. Watson. All at once, everything exciting that ever was is going to happen to you,” Lestrade said.

“That’s true enough,” Donovan grumbled, “Freak makes everyone’s lives hell.”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Lestrade muttered with a scowl.

Donovan ignored him, having made her point.

**Opening credits.**

“Why are there bloody opening credits? Like it’s a goddamn show on the telly!" Donovan cried out in rage.

“Maybe it could be. Blog’s caught enough attention already. Then again, Sherlock would’ve hated having people following him around everywhere he went, especially when he was sneaking off to do God knows what,” John said, his voice humorous at first, but growing ever more melancholy as he spoke.

**OCTOBER 12TH.**

**A well-dressed middle-aged businessman walks across the concourse of a busy London railway station talking into his mobile phone.**

Lestrade sat forward in his seat. “Wait, is this…?” he asked.

“I believe so, Detective Inspector, if you are referring to the first case on which Dr. Watson joined my brother,” Mycroft said easily.

**SIR JEFFREY: What d’you mean, there’s no ruddy car?**

**His secretary is at his office, talking into her phone as she walks across the room.**

**HELEN: He went to Waterloo. I’m sorry. Get a cab.**

**SIR JEFFREY: I never get cabs.**

**Helen looks around furtively to make sure that nobody is within earshot, then speaks quietly into the phone.**

**HELEN: I love you.**

“He was having an affair with his secretary?” Molly asked, eyes wide.

“Seems like it,” Anderson said.

**SIR JEFFREY (suggestively): When?**

**HELEN (giggling): Get a cab!**

**Smiling as he hangs up, Sir Jeffrey looks around for the cab rank.**

“From this perspective, it seems so obvious who’d done it,” Lestrade said, scowling at the screen.

“Well, that’s because we already know the end. That’s the terrible part about it, it’s not interesting if we already know what the ending is. Makes us seem like fools for the time,” Donovan observed.

“I think more of the reason for this is to see it from Sherlock’s eyes. Maybe the person who brought us here is trying to prove that he was innocent, and everything was just set up by Moriarty,” John said. He was still convinced that Sherlock was indeed the man he knew and not just some fraud. Maybe, just maybe, this video would prove that.

No one else spoke, though Molly and Mycroft shared a knowing glance, secretly, of course.

**Some unspecified time later, sitting on the floor by the window of what appears to be an office many storeys above ground, Sir Jeffrey unscrews the lid of a small glass bottle which contains three large capsules. Tipping one out, he stares ahead of himself wide-eyed and afraid and puts the capsule into his mouth. Then, he is writhing on the floor in agony. Around his dying body, the office is empty of furniture.**

“I never thought about how much it must’ve hurt to die like that. Oh, poor Sherlock. It was almost him,” Mrs. Hudson whimpered, her eyes glued to the screen, unable to look away.

Donovan, though sad too at the prospect of the deaths being painful, was more curious as to how much this woman cared for Sherlock. Surely no one could _care_ for the freak, could they?

**POLICE PRESS CONFERENCE.**

**Flanked by a police officer and another man who may be her solicitor or a family member, Sir Jeffrey’s widow is sitting at a table making a statement to the press.**

**MARGARET PATTERSON (tearfully as she reads from her statement): My husband was a happy man who lived life to the full. He loved his family and his work – and that he should have taken his own life in this way is a mystery and a shock to all who knew him.**

**Standing at one side of the room, Helen tries to keep control of her feelings but eventually closes her eyes and lets the tears roll down her face.**

“Do you think she even knew that he was married?” Molly asked.

“You would think so, her being his secretary and everything,” Lestrade answered, though his statement neither confirmed nor denied Molly’s inquiry.

**NOVEMBER 26TH.**

**Two boys in their late teens are running down a street at night in the pouring rain. Gary has opened a fold-up umbrella and is trying to keep it under control in the wind, while Jimmy has his jacket pulled up over his head. He calls out in triumph when a black cab approaches with its yellow sign lit to show that it is available for hire.**

**JIMMY: Yes, yes, taxi, yes!**

Everyone held their breath.

**He whistles and waves to the taxi, but it drives past. He makes an exasperated sound, then starts to head back in the direction he just came, looking around at his friend.**

“Wait, what? Why didn’t he get in? Wasn’t he one of the victims?” John asked.

“Perhaps it was a different taxi?” Anderson asked in return.

Both men shrugged.

“Well, obviously,” Mycroft said. There was an air of superiority in his tone.

Donovan scowled at the older Holmes brother. “Dear God, not another one,” she muttered, leaning back on the couch.

**JIMMY: I’ll be back in two minutes, mate.**

**GARY: What?**

**JIMMY: I’m just going home; get my mum’s umbrella.**

**GARY: You can share mine!**

**JIMMY: Two minutes, all right?**

**He walks away. Sometime later Gary looks at his watch, apparently worried because Jimmy has been gone for too long. He turns around and heads back in pursuit of his friend.**

*****

**Some unspecified time later, Jimmy sits crying and clutching a small glass bottle which contains three large capsules. He unscrews the lid, his hands shaking, and sobs. We see that he is sitting on a window ledge inside a sports centre overlooking a sports court.**

“Didn’t he just say two minutes? Why would he still get a taxi?” Donovan asked.

Anderson shrugged. “He probably thought that he could pick up his friend and they could get where they needed to go without needing their umbrellas,” he said.

**The following day, an article in The Daily Express runs the headline “Boy, 18, kills himself inside sports centre”.**

*****

**JANUARY 27TH.**

**At a public venue, a party is being held. A large poster showing a photograph of the guest of honour is labelled “Your local MP, Beth Davenport, Junior Minister for Transport.” As pounding dance music comes from inside the room, one of Beth’s aides walks out of the room and goes over to her male colleague who is standing at the bar. He looks at her in exasperation.**

**AIDE 1: Is she still dancing?**

**AIDE 2: Yeah, if you can call it that.**

**AIDE 1: Did you get the car keys off her?**

**AIDE 2 (showing him the keys): Got ’em out of her bag.**

**The man smiles in satisfaction, then looks into the dance hall and frowns.**

**AIDE 1: Where is she?**

“Horrible workers, they are. Trying to prevent their boss from driving drunk, but not keeping an eye on her?” John said, shaking his head at the screen.

*****

**Beth has slipped out of the venue and is standing at the side of her car searching through her handbag for her keys. She sighs when she can’t find them and looks around helplessly.**

*****

**Some unspecified time later, Beth stands inside a portacabin on a building site and sobs hysterically. As she continues to cry, she reaches out a trembling hand towards a small glass bottle which contains three large capsules.**

“And here is our third victim,” Lestrade said, sighing sadly. “Maybe now we’ll see Sherlock.”

**POLICE PRESS CONFERENCE.**

**Detective Inspector Lestrade sits at the table looking uncomfortable while his colleague sitting beside him, Detective Sergeant Sally Donovan, addresses the gathered press reporters.**

“Ah-ha! There we are. Maybe we’ll finally figure out some of the freak’s tricks. Like how he texts everyone in our press conference and always makes us look like fools,” Donovan said with an angry scowl.

**DONOVAN: The body of Beth Davenport, Junior Minister for Transport, was found late last night on a building site in Greater London. Preliminary investigations suggest that this was suicide. We can confirm that this apparent suicide closely resembles those of Sir Jeffrey Patterson and James Phillimore. In the light of this, these incidents are now being treated as linked. The investigation is ongoing but Detective Inspector Lestrade will take questions now.**

**REPORTER 1: Detective Inspector, how can suicides be linked?**

“Easy,” John said, “They’re murders done by a person who was holding them at gunpoint, forcing them to take a fifty-fifty chance of killing themselves rather than the certainty of a bullet.”

“Well, I see that now,” Lestrade said. Though his statement was one of annoyance, his tone wasn’t at all cold, only reminiscent of the times that Sherlock was around to tell him things.

**LESTRADE: Well, they all took the same poison; um, they were all found in places they had no reason to be; none of them had shown any prior indication of ...**

**REPORTER 1 (interrupting): But you can’t have serial suicides.**

**LESTRADE: Well, apparently you can.**

**REPORTER 2: These three people: there’s nothing that links them?**

**LESTRADE: There’s no link been found yet, but we’re looking for it. There has to be one.**

**Everybody’s mobile phone trills a text alert simultaneously. As they look at their phones, each message reads:**

*****

**Wrong!**

*****

“I can’t believe I’m actually saying this, but I miss it when he used to do that,” Lestrade said.

**Donovan looks at the same message on her own phone.**

**DONOVAN: If you’ve all got texts, please ignore them.**

**REPORTER 1: Just says, ‘Wrong’.**

“Sherlock would’ve loved that guy,” John said, sighing sadly.

“Loved to make fun of him, you mean, “Anderson interjected.

“Yeah,” John replied. Obviously, that’s what he meant.

**DONOVAN: Yeah, well, just ignore that. Okay, if there are no more questions for Detective Inspector Lestrade, I’m going to bring this session to an end.**

**REPORTER 2: But if they’re suicides, what are you investigating?**

**LESTRADE: As I say, these ... these suicides are clearly linked. Um, it’s an ... it’s an unusual situation. We’ve got our best people investigating ...**

**Everybody’s mobile trills another text alert and again each message reads:**

*****

**Wrong!**

*****

**REPORTER 1: Says, ‘Wrong’ again.**

**Lestrade looks despairingly at Sally.**

**DONOVAN (to the reporters): One more question.**

**REPORTER 3: Is there any chance that these are murders, and if they are, is this the work of a serial killer?**

**LESTRADE: I ... I know that you like writing about these, but these do appear to be suicides. We know the difference. The, um, the poison was clearly self-administered.**

**REPORTER 3: Yes, but if they are murders, how do people keep themselves safe?**

**LESTRADE: Well, don’t commit suicide.**

**The reporter looks at him in shock. Donovan covers her mouth and murmurs a warning.**

“That wasn’t the right thing to say,” Molly said as she let out a breath through her nose.

**DONOVAN: “Daily Mail.”**

**Lestrade grimaces and looks at the reporters again.**

**LESTRADE: Obviously this is a frightening time for people, but all anyone has to do is exercise reasonable precautions. We are all as safe as we want to be.**

**Again, the mobiles trill their text alerts, and once more each message reads:**

*****

**Wrong!**

*****

**But Lestrade’s phone takes a moment longer to alert him to a text and when he looks at it, the message reads:**

*****

**You know where**

**to find me.**

**SH**

“So that’s what you were looking at! I was wondering; it looked too long to just be _‘wrong’_ like everyone else, but I couldn’t see it from where I was,” Donovan said.

Lestrade sighed. “Yeah. He always seemed to know when I needed him.”

“That’s because he always knew what was going on, and whenever it was enough to interest him, you’d need help,” John replied.

Lestrade looked down, slightly red, though he nodded in agreement.

**Looking exasperated, he puts the phone into his pocket and looks at the reporters as he stands up.**

**LESTRADE: Thank you.**

*****

**Shortly afterwards, he and Donovan are walking through the offices of New Scotland Yard.**

**DONOVAN: You’ve got to stop him doing that. He’s making us look like idiots.**

**LESTRADE: Well, if you can tell me how he does it, I’ll stop him.**

“Too bad. I thought for sure we’d figure out how he kept doing that,” Donovan said.

**RUSSELL SQUARE PARK.**

**John is limping briskly through the park, leaning heavily on his cane. As he walks past a man sitting on the bench, the man stares after him, clearly recognizing him. He calls out.**

**MIKE: John! John Watson!**

“Friend of yours, John dear?” Mrs. Hudson asked.

“Why, yes Mrs. Hudson. He’s actually the one who introduced me to Sherlock,” John replied.

At that point, the three officers of the law turned to him in shock.

“This guy?” Lestrade asked. “How did he know Sherlock?”

Molly smiled. “I’m sure you’ll find out if we keep watching,” she said, redirecting everyone’s attention to the television.

**John turns back to Mike as he stands up and hurries towards him, smiling.**

**MIKE: Stamford. Mike Stamford. We were at Bart’s together.**

“I see. He was at Bart’s. Must’ve met the freak when he was there conducting one of his experiments.”

**JOHN: Yes, sorry, yes, Mike. (He takes Mike’s offered hand and shakes it.) Hello, hi.**

**MIKE (grinning and gesturing to himself): Yeah, I know. I got fat!**

**JOHN (trying to sound convincing): No.**

“You are a dreadful liar, John dear,” Mrs. Hudson said with a chuckle.

John sighed, his cheeks red with embarrassment. “Mrs. Hudson, whoever is good at lying about someone’s weight?”

“He’s got a point there,” Lestrade remarked.

**MIKE: I heard you were abroad somewhere, getting shot at. What happened?**

**JOHN (awkwardly): I got shot.**

**They both look embarrassed.**

“Guess now we know that Mike is definitely _not_ a Sherlock. Pretty much _anyone else_ could’ve guessed that” Lestrade said.

**A little later they have bought takeaway coffees and are sitting side by side on a bench in the park. Mike looks at John worriedly. Oblivious, John takes a sip from his coffee then looks across to his old friend.**

**JOHN: Are you still at Bart’s, then?**

**MIKE: Teaching now. Bright young things, like we used to be. God, I hate them!**

**They both laugh.**

**MIKE: What about you? Just staying in town ’til you get yourself sorted?**

**JOHN: I can’t afford London on an Army pension.**

**MIKE: Ah, and you couldn’t bear to be anywhere else. That’s not the John Watson I know.**

**JOHN (uncomfortably): Yeah, I’m not the John Watson ...**

**He stops. Mike awkwardly looks away and drinks his coffee. John switches his own cup to his right hand and looks down at his left hand, clenching it into a fist as he tries to control the tremor that has started. Mike looks around at him again.**

**MIKE: Couldn’t Harry help?**

**JOHN (sarcastically): Yeah, like that’s gonna happen!**

“Who’s Harry?” Lestrade asked.

John chuckled as he remembered his conversation with Sherlock. “The first person to stump Sherlock since I met him. Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll find out.”

**MIKE (shrugging): I dunno – get a flatshare or something?**

“Looks like it’s Mike we’ve got to thank for the creation of _‘Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson’_ , don’t we?” Molly said with a small chuckle from the corner of the couch.

“Guess so,” John replied, agreeing.

**JOHN: Come on – who’d want me for a flatmate?**

**Mike chuckles thoughtfully.**

**JOHN: What?**

**MIKE: Well, you’re the second person to say that to me today.**

**JOHN: Who was the first?**

*****

**ST BARTHOLOMEW’S HOSPITAL MORGUE.**

**Sherlock Holmes unzips the body bag lying on the table and peers at the corpse inside. He sniffs.**

“Ugh,” Donovan groaned, “He sniffs them? Knew he was a freak.”

John scowled. “He’s just using all of his senses, not only his eyes.”

**SHERLOCK: How fresh?**

**Pathologist Molly Hooper walks over.**

**MOLLY: Just in. Sixty-seven, natural causes. He used to work here. I knew him. He was nice.**

**Zipping the bag up again, Sherlock straightens up, turns to her and smiles falsely.**

“That was as real a smile as most of us ever got,” Molly said, looking down slightly.

**SHERLOCK: Fine. We’ll start with the riding crop.**

*****

**Shortly afterwards the body has been removed from the bag and is lying on its back on the table. In the observation room next door, Molly watches and flinches while Sherlock flogs the body repeatedly and violently with a riding crop, but her face is also full of admiration. She walks back into the room and as he finishes and straightens up, breathless, she goes over to him.**

**MOLLY (jokingly): So, bad day, was it?**

**SHERLOCK (ignoring her banter as he gets out a notebook and starts writing in it): I need to know what bruises form in the next twenty minutes. A man’s alibi depends on it. Text me.**

**MOLLY: Listen, I was wondering: maybe later when you’re finished ...**

**Sherlock glances across to her as he is writing, then does a double-take and frowns at her.**

**SHERLOCK: Are you wearing lipstick? You weren’t wearing lipstick before.**

“When has Sherlock ever noticed if a woman was wearing lipstick or not when it wasn’t for a case?” Lestrade asked, staring at the screen in shock.

John shrugged. “I dunno, why is it that Molly is the _only_ one Sherlock ever tries to keep _out_ of a relationship? He’s never cared about ruining it for anyone else, as far as I know – except maybe me.”

Everyone turned to Molly at that moment. The mousy little pathologist blushed bright red but remained silent.

John and Lestrade then met eyes – easily, as they were sitting right next to each other.

“You don’t think…?” John whispered.

“Sherlock and Molly…?” Lestrade replied, his voice just as quiet.

**MOLLY (nervously): I, er, I refreshed it a bit.**

Molly frowned at the screen. Was her crush on Sherlock really that obvious?

**She smiles at him flirtatiously. He gives her a long oblivious look, then goes back to writing in his notebook.**

“My brother never was one for picking up emotions,” Mycroft observed with a disappointed sigh.

**SHERLOCK: Sorry, you were saying?**

**MOLLY (gazing at him intently): I was wondering if you’d like to have coffee.**

**Sherlock puts his notebook away.**

**SHERLOCK: Black, two sugars, please. I’ll be upstairs.**

**He walks away.**

**MOLLY: ... Okay.**

“I don’t think that’s what she meant, Sherlock dear,” Mrs. Hudson said quietly to herself, though everyone in the room heard her comment.

**BART’S LAB.**

**Sherlock is standing at the far end of the lab using a pipette to squeeze a few drops of liquid onto a Petri dish. Mike knocks on the door and brings John in with him. Sherlock glances across at them briefly before looking at his work again. John limps into the room, looking around at all the equipment.**

“You might want to pay attention to this. Try to watch how Sherlock figures it out,” John said.

Immediately, Lestrade, Donovan, Anderson, and Molly lean forward, watching the screen with avid eyes. Mycroft remains where he is for obvious reasons.

**JOHN: Well, bit different from my day.**

**MIKE (chuckling): You’ve no idea!**

**SHERLOCK (sitting down): Mike, can I borrow your phone? There’s no signal on mine.**

**MIKE: And what’s wrong with the landline?**

**SHERLOCK: I prefer to text.**

**MIKE: Sorry. It’s in my coat.**

**John fishes in his back pocket and takes out his own phone.**

**JOHN: Er, here. Use mine.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh. Thank you.**

**Glancing briefly at Mike, he stands up and walks towards John. Mike introduces him.**

**MIKE: It’s an old friend of mine, John Watson.**

**Sherlock reaches John and takes his phone from him. Turning partially away from him, he flips open the keypad and starts to type on it.**

**SHERLOCK: Afghanistan or Iraq?**

“What?” The three Yarders asked in surprise. They knew that Sherlock would obviously have John figured out by then, but how? It must’ve been obvious.

**John frowns. Nearby, Mike smiles knowingly. John looks at Sherlock as he continues to type.**

**JOHN: Sorry?**

**SHERLOCK: Which was it – Afghanistan or Iraq?**

**He briefly raises his eyes to John’s before looking back to the phone. John hesitates, then looks across to Mike, confused. Mike just smiles smugly.**

**JOHN: Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you know ...?**

**Sherlock looks up as Molly comes into the room holding a mug of coffee.**

**SHERLOCK: Ah, Molly, coffee. Thank you.**

**He shuts down John’s phone and hands it back while Molly brings the mug over to him. He takes it and looks closely at her. Her mouth is paler again.**

**SHERLOCK: What happened to the lipstick?**

“Once again, why is he concerned with whether she’s wearing lipstick or not?” Anderson asked this time.

The question wasn’t answered.

**MOLLY (smiling awkwardly at him): It wasn’t working for me.**

**SHERLOCK: Really? I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth’s too small now.**

“Well, that’s not nice, is it? Why would he say that? He’s never been concerned about anyone else’s looks,” Lestrade observed.

**He turns and walks back to his station, taking a sip from the mug and grimacing at the taste.**

**MOLLY: ... Okay.**

**She turns and heads back towards the door.**

**SHERLOCK: How do you feel about the violin?**

**John looks around at Molly but she’s on her way out the door. He glances at Mike who is still smiling smugly and finally realizes that Sherlock is talking to him.**

**JOHN: I’m sorry, what?**

**SHERLOCK (typing on a laptop keyboard as he talks): I play the violin when I’m thinking. Sometimes I don’t talk for days on end. (He looks around at John.) Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other.**

**He throws a hideously false smile at John, who looks at him blankly for a moment then looks across to Mike.**

**JOHN: Oh, you ... you told him about me?**

**MIKE: Not a word.**

**JOHN (turning to Sherlock again): Then who said anything about flatmates?**

**SHERLOCK (picking up his greatcoat and putting it on): I did. Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn’t that difficult a leap.**

“Well, that was rather obvious. Not one of the more puzzling mysteries that my brother has solved,” Mycroft said nonchalantly. The others in the room sighed in response to his statement.

**JOHN: How did you know about Afghanistan?**

**Sherlock ignores the question, wraps his scarf around his neck, then picks up his mobile and checks it.**

**SHERLOCK: Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it.**

**He walks towards John.**

**SHERLOCK: We’ll meet there tomorrow evening; seven o’clock. Sorry – gotta dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary.**

**Putting his phone into the inside pocket of his coat, he walks past John and heads for the door.**

**JOHN (turning to look at him): Is that it?**

**Sherlock turns back from the door and strolls closer to John again.**

**SHERLOCK: Is that what?**

**JOHN: We’ve only just met and we’re gonna go and look at a flat?**

“Seems that Sherlock moves in quick,” Mrs. Hudson said jokingly.

John sighed. “Mrs. Hudson, for that last time, Sherlock wasn’t my boyfriend! Why does everyone think that?” He sat back in his seat, trying to ignore the chuckling coming from around him.

**SHERLOCK: Problem?**

**John smiles in disbelief, looking across to Mike for help, but his friend just continues to smile as he looks at Sherlock. John turns back to the younger man.**

**JOHN: We don’t know a thing about each other; I don’t know where we’re meeting; I don’t even know your name.**

**Sherlock looks closely at him for a moment before speaking.**

**SHERLOCK: I know you’re an Army doctor and you’ve been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you’ve got a brother who’s worried about you, but you won’t go to him for help because you don’t approve of him – possibly because he’s an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp’s psychosomatic – quite correctly, I’m afraid.**

**John looks down at his leg and cane and shuffles his feet awkwardly.**

**SHERLOCK (smugly): That’s enough to be going on with, don’t you think?**

**He turns and walks to the door again, opening it and going through, but then leans back into the room again.**

**SHERLOCK: The name’s Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street.**

**He click-winks at John, then looks around at Mike.**

**SHERLOCK: Afternoon.**

**Mike raises a finger in farewell as Sherlock disappears from the room. As the door slams shut behind him, John turns and looks at Mike in disbelief. Mike smiles and nods to him.**

**MIKE: Yeah. He’s always like that.**

“ _That_ was how you met Sherlock?” Lestrade asked, disbelievingly.

John only nodded. “Exactly like that. How this person managed to get the footage is beyond me, though.”

“So, you really weren’t a colleague of his, were you? Just someone to help the freak pay for a place to live,” Donovan commented harshly.

A glare was sent her way in response.

As everyone turned back to the screen, they were shocked to find that it was frozen.

“Why did it stop?” John asked, picking up the remote and pointing it at the screen. He pressed play, but nothing happened. Pressing the button again, more aggressively this time, something did happen.

The screen went black, more words appearing. _“Not so fast. That is only the first part. It’s time for a break. Time to discuss what you have seen. Have some tea and biscuits while you wait.”_

“Why does it feel like whoever is behind this is mocking us?” Anderson asked pointedly.

“Probably because they are,” Mycroft replied, his tone just as sharp as a silver platter appeared out of thin air. On it was a large teapot and seven teacups, accompanied by a plate of assorted biscuits.

“Think it’s poisoned?” Donovan asked, eyeing the tea.

“Well, if it was it would make for quite the anticlimactic murder, don’t you think?” Mycroft asked as he reached for a cup. He poured himself some tea, added one lump of sugar and sniffed it before taking a sip. “So,” he said once he sat back in his seat, “What _have_ you learned about my brother thus far?”

“We haven’t seen much so far…” Lestrade said, trailing off.

“Humor me,” Mycroft replied.

Lestrade shuffled in his seat for a moment, looking back at the screen, though only seeing words. Then, he spoke, “Doesn’t seem very plausible that Sherlock would’ve researched John before meeting him, as John said that Sherlock told him. There was no way for Mike to know where to meet John in that park, and even if he did, why would Sherlock go to all of the trouble to find John specifically?”

Mycroft only nodded in reply, a smile forming on his face, though it was cold. “Anything else?”

“Sherlock asked John, ‘Afghanistan or Iraq?’, so either he was using that for dramatic effect, or he really didn’t know, the latter meaning that his deduction skills don’t go into that level of detail,” Anderson said.

“Freak’s either not as smart as he thinks, or way too dramatic for his own good,” Donovan muttered with a small smile.

“Also,” Lestrade said, his tone harsh as he eyes his two co-workers, “We’re seeing the serial suicides in a whole new way. It seems obvious to us now who was behind it, but I guess, as this continues, we’ll see just how Sherlock figured it out.”

Mycroft nodded. “Precisely, though I do hope we see more than my brother’s dull cases. Surely he has more exciting things to do.” At the end, Mycroft's voice was almost wistful, if only emotions were easy to detect from the elder Holmes brother.

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	3. 1x1 Part 2 - A Study in Pink

“I guess we can continue now?” John asked as he sat back down, tea and biscuits in hand.

The screen was no longer displaying words, once again back to the scene of John and Mike Stamford in St. Bart’s.

“I guess so,” Molly said as she grabbed the remote and pressed play. The video resumed.

**LATER.**

**John has returned to his bedsit. Sitting down on the bed, he takes out his mobile phone and flicks through the menu to find Messages Sent. The last message reads:**

*****

**If brother has green ladder**

**arrest brother.**

**SH**

*****

**Puzzled, John looks at the message for a long moment, then looks across to the table where his laptop is lying. He pushes himself to his feet and walks over to the table. Shortly afterwards, he has called up a search website called Quest and types “Sherlock Holmes” into the search box.**

“You researched him?” Lestrade asked.

“Yeah,” John replied, “Wouldn’t you?”

Lestrade remained quiet, shrugging.

**In an unknown location, a woman wearing a pink overcoat and pink high-heeled shoes slowly reaches down with a trembling hand towards a clear glass bottle which is standing on the bare floorboards and which contains three large capsules. Her fingers close around the bottle and she slowly lifts it off the floor, her hand still shaking.**

“And here is our final victim,” Lestrade said with a sad huff. Now, he wished that he’d called Sherlock earlier so that there were fewer killings by their dying and desperate cabbie.

**BAKER STREET.**

**John limps along the road and reaches the door marked 221B just as a black cab pulls up at the curb behind him. John knocks on the door as Sherlock gets out of the cab.**

**SHERLOCK: Hello.**

**He reaches in through the window of the cab and hands some money to the driver.**

**SHERLOCK: Thank you.**

**John turns towards him as he walks over.**

**JOHN: Ah, Mr. Holmes.**

**SHERLOCK: Sherlock, please.**

**They shake hands.**

**JOHN: Well, this is a prime spot. Must be expensive.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, she’s giving me a special deal. Owes me a favour. A few years back, her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help out.**

**JOHN: Sorry – you stopped her husband being executed?**

**SHERLOCK: Oh no. I ensured it.**

Molly and the Yarders raised their eyebrows in surprise. They turned to Mrs. Hudson for an explanation, but the old woman just kept her eyes on the screen.

**He smiles at John as the front door is opened by Mrs. Hudson, who opens her arms to the younger man.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Sherlock, hello.**

**Sherlock turns and walks into her arms, hugging her briefly, then steps back and presents John to her.**

**SHERLOCK: Mrs. Hudson, Doctor John Watson.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Hello.**

**JOHN: How do?**

**MRS. HUDSON (gesturing John inside): Come in.**

**JOHN: Thank you.**

**SHERLOCK: Shall we?**

**MRS. HUDSON: Yeah.**

**The men go inside, and Mrs. Hudson closes the door. Sherlock trots up the stairs to the first-floor landing, then pauses and waits for John to hobble upstairs. As John reaches the top of the stairs, Sherlock opens the door ahead of him and walks in, revealing the living room of the flat. John follows him in and looks around the room and at all the possessions and boxes scattered around it.**

**JOHN: Well, this could be very nice. Very nice indeed.**

**SHERLOCK: Yes. Yes, I think so. My thoughts precisely.**

**He looks around the flat happily.**

**SHERLOCK: So, I went straight ahead and moved in.**

**JOHN (simultaneously): Soon as we get all this rubbish cleaned out ... Oh.**

**He pauses, embarrassed when he realizes what Sherlock was saying.**

**JOHN: So, this is all ...**

**SHERLOCK: Well, obviously I can, um, straighten things up a bit.**

**He walks across the room and makes a half-hearted attempt to tidy up a little, throwing a couple of folders into a box and then taking some apparently unopened envelopes across to the fireplace where he puts them onto the mantelpiece and then stabs a multi-tool knife into them. John has noticed something else on the mantelpiece and lifts his cane to point at it.**

**JOHN: That’s a skull.**

**SHERLOCK: Friend of mine. When I say ‘friend’ ...**

“Freak…” Donovan mumbled.

**Mrs. Hudson has followed them into the room. She picks up a cup and saucer while Sherlock takes off his greatcoat and scarf.**

**MRS. HUDSON: What do you think, then, Doctor Watson? There’s another bedroom upstairs if you’ll be _needing_ two bedrooms.**

Everyone in the room besides John chuckled at what Mrs. Hudson was implying.

**JOHN: Of course, we’ll be needing two.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Oh, don’t worry; there’s all sorts round here. (Confidentially, dropping her voice to a whisper by the end of the sentence) Mrs. Turner next door’s got married ones.**

**John looks across to Sherlock, expecting him to confirm that he and John are not involved in that way, but Sherlock appears oblivious to what’s being insinuated. Mrs. Hudson walks across to the kitchen, then turns back and frowns at Sherlock.**

“You don’t see the freak denying it,” Donovan said quietly.

“Yes, unfortunately, my brother has a certain condition that doesn’t allow him to be very… how shall I put this?... observant, when it comes to relationships,” Mycroft replied, his tone taking on a slightly sarcastic lilt.

“What do you mean, ‘condition’?” Lestrade asked. “He never told me about any condition.”

“His Asperger’s, Greg, remember?”

“What? Freak’s got a mental disability? Should’ve known,” Donovan commented.

**MRS. HUDSON: Oh, Sherlock. The mess you’ve made.**

**She goes into the kitchen and starts tidying up, and John walks over to one of the two armchairs, plumps up a cushion on the chair and then drops heavily down into it. He looks across to Sherlock who is still tidying up a little.**

“Aw, he’s tidying up for John. How sweet,” Mrs. Hudson crooned.

More chuckles arose from the audience.

**JOHN: I looked you up on the internet last night.**

**SHERLOCK (turning around to him): Anything interesting?**

**JOHN: Found your website, The Science of Deduction.**

**SHERLOCK (smiling proudly): What did you think?**

**John throws him a “you have got to be kidding me” type of look. Sherlock looks hurt.**

**JOHN: You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb.**

**SHERLOCK: Yes; and I can read your military career in your face and your leg, and your brother’s drinking habits in your mobile phone.**

**JOHN: How?**

**Sherlock smiles and turns away. Mrs. Hudson comes out of the kitchen reading the newspaper.**

**MRS. HUDSON: What about these suicides then, Sherlock? I thought that’d be right up your street. Three exactly the same.**

**Sherlock walks over to the window of the living room at the sound of a car pulling up outside.**

**SHERLOCK: Four.**

**He looks down at the car as someone gets out of it. The vehicle is a police car with its lights flashing on the roof.**

**SHERLOCK: There’s been a fourth. And there’s something different this time.**

“Oh, is that how he knew? Seeing it from his point of view it seems so simple like everything is just right there none of us can see it,” Anderson said, clearly interested.

**MRS. HUDSON: A fourth?**

**Sherlock turns as D.I. Lestrade trots up the stairs and comes into the living room.**

**SHERLOCK: Where?**

**LESTRADE: Brixton, Lauriston Gardens.**

“You don’t even seem surprised that he knew,” John said.

“Well, he did send me a text saying that I knew where to find him,” Lestrade answered.

“How _did_ you know? We had just moved in, right that second,” John asked.

“He sent me another text, earlier that day.”

**SHERLOCK: What’s new about this one? You wouldn’t have come to get me if there wasn’t something different.**

**LESTRADE: You know how they never leave notes?**

**SHERLOCK: Yeah.**

**LESTRADE: This one did. Will you come?**

**SHERLOCK: Who’s on forensics?**

**LESTRADE: It’s Anderson.**

“Finally, I’m going to be in it!”

Anderson’s comment was ignored.

**SHERLOCK (grimacing): Anderson won’t work with me.**

**LESTRADE: Well, he won’t be your assistant.**

**SHERLOCK: I need an assistant.**

“We never got that answered, why _does_ he need an assistant?”

**LESTRADE: Will you come?**

**SHERLOCK: Not in a police car. I’ll be right behind.**

**LESTRADE: Thank you.**

**Looking around at John and Mrs. Hudson for a moment, he turns and hurries off down the stairs. Sherlock waits until he has reached the front door, then leaps into the air and clenches his fists triumphantly before twirling around the room happily.**

**SHERLOCK: Brilliant! Yes! Ah, four serial suicides, and now a note! Oh, it’s Christmas!**

“He’s excited about this stuff? Such a freak. Just keeps proving my point,” Donovan muttered.

“I dunno. I kind of like how he waited until Lestrade was gone before showing how happy he was. Goes to show you how much his reputation is important to him,” John said with a smile.

“Though, clearly, he doesn’t care about his reputation around you and Mrs. Hudson,” Mycroft said.

**Picking up his scarf and coat he starts to put them on while heading for the kitchen.**

**SHERLOCK: Mrs. Hudson, I’ll be late. Might need some food.**

**MRS. HUDSON: I’m your landlady, dear, not your housekeeper.**

**SHERLOCK: Something cold will do. John, have a cup of tea, make yourself at home. Don’t wait up!**

**Grabbing a small leather pouch from the kitchen table, he opens the kitchen door and disappears from view. Mrs. Hudson turns back to John.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Look at him, dashing about! My husband was just the same.**

**John grimaces at her repeated implication that he and Sherlock are an item.**

**MRS. HUDSON: But you’re more the sitting-down type, I can tell.**

**John looks uncomfortable.**

**MRS. HUDSON (turning towards the door): I’ll make you that cuppa. You rest your leg.**

**JOHN (loudly): Damn my leg!**

“John!” Molly scolded. Her outburst was quickly overpowered by the quick words of the John on the screen.

**His response was instinctive, and he is immediately apologetic even as Mrs. Hudson turns back to him in shock.**

**JOHN: Sorry, I’m so sorry. It’s just sometimes this bloody thing ...**

**He bashes his leg with his cane.**

**MRS. HUDSON: I understand, dear; I’ve got a hip.**

**She turns towards the door again.**

**JOHN: Cup of tea’d be lovely, thank you.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Just this once, dear. I’m not your housekeeper.**

**JOHN: Couple of biscuits too, if you’ve got ’em.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Not your housekeeper!**

The Yarders, Molly, and John chuckled at Mrs. Hudson’s antics on screen. The woman in question only blushed, her face flushed red. Mycroft, the only one not laughing, staying quiet and still in his seat, clearly not amused.

**John has picked up the newspaper which Mrs. Hudson put down and now he looks at the article reporting Beth Davenport’s apparent suicide. Next to a large photograph of Beth is a smaller one showing the man who just visited the flat and identifying him as D.I. Lestrade. Before he can read on, Sherlock’s voice interrupts him, and John looks up and sees him standing at the living room door.**

**SHERLOCK: You’re a doctor. In fact, you’re an Army doctor.**

**JOHN: Yes.**

**He gets to his feet and turns towards Sherlock as he comes back into the room again.**

**SHERLOCK: Any good?**

**JOHN: Very good.**

**SHERLOCK: Seen a lot of injuries, then; violent deaths.**

**JOHN: Mmm, yes.**

**SHERLOCK: Bit of trouble too, I bet.**

**JOHN (quietly): Of course, yes. Enough for a lifetime. Far too much.**

**SHERLOCK: Wanna see some more?**

**JOHN (fervently): Oh God, yes.**

“What?” Donovan asked, “Both of you are freaks.”

**Sherlock spins on his heel and leads John out of the room and down the stairs. John calls out as he follows him down.**

**JOHN: Sorry, Mrs. Hudson, I’ll skip the tea. Off out.**

**MRS. HUDSON (standing near the bottom of the stairs): Both of you?**

**Sherlock has almost reached the front door but now turns and walks back towards her.**

**SHERLOCK: Impossible suicides? Four of them? There’s no point sitting at home when there’s finally something fun going on!**

“Fun?” Lestrade asked incredulously. He sighed. “Only Sherlock.”

**He takes her by the shoulders and kisses her noisily on the cheek.**

“Well, Molly, maybe all you have to do is give him a real mystery and you’re in. It’s happened before. He’s only ever really been intrigued by people he’s deduced wrong,” John said.

“If that were true, he’d have to have deduced you wrong, John,” Molly said, looking down sadly.

John just smiled. “You’ll see.”

At his words, Molly looked up, confused, though there was a glimmer of hope in her eyes.

**MRS. HUDSON: Look at you, all happy. It’s not decent.**

**She can’t help but smile, though, as he turns away and heads for the front door again.**

**SHERLOCK: Who cares about decent? The game, Mrs. Hudson, is on!**

“Well, Detective Inspector, this seems to be your first piece of evidence to tell you that my brother wasn’t a fraud. If he’d been behind every mystery he’d ever solved, then how come he’d be so excited to solve them?” Mycroft asked, smiling as he gave the Yarders something to think about.

The three officers were silent, staring at the screen, though their eyes weren’t seeing. After a few seconds, they came back to the world, focusing on the images in front of them once again.

**He walks out onto the street and hails an approaching black cab.**

**SHERLOCK: Taxi!**

**The taxi pulls up alongside and he and John get in, then the car drives off again and heads for Brixton. The boys sit in silence for a long time while Sherlock sits with his eyes fixed on his smartphone and John keeps stealing nervous glances at him. Finally, Sherlock lowers his phone.**

**SHERLOCK: Okay, you’ve got questions.**

**JOHN: Yeah, where are we going?**

“Didn’t you get the hint when Lestrade came in and told Sherlock about the fourth suicide?” Molly asked, staring at John in confusion, “Where else could you two be going?”

John shrugged. “I dunno. Scotland Yard?” Reflecting back to that day, he really didn’t know what he had been thinking when he’d asked that question.

**SHERLOCK: Crime scene. Next?**

**JOHN: Who are you? What do you do?**

**SHERLOCK: What do you think?**

**JOHN (slowly, hesitantly): I’d say private detective ...**

**SHERLOCK: But?**

**JOHN: ... but the police don’t go to private detectives.**

**SHERLOCK: I’m a consulting detective. Only one in the world. I invented the job.**

**JOHN: What does that mean?**

**SHERLOCK: It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me.**

“Hey!” Anderson complained, though secretly, he knew it was true. Even if he was good, he had to admit that Sherlock was better – if he wasn’t behind all the crimes, that is.

**JOHN: The police don’t consult amateurs.**

“Damn right,” Lestrade muttered. “Only the best. John should’ve guessed that.”

**Sherlock throws him a look.**

**SHERLOCK: When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said, “Afghanistan or Iraq?” You looked surprised.**

**JOHN: Yes, how did you know?**

The Yarders leaned in, eager to learn how Sherlock had deduced John Watson.

**SHERLOCK: I didn’t know, I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself, says military. But your conversation as you entered the room ...**

**Flashback to the lab at Bart’s**

**JOHN (looking around the lab): Bit different from my day.**

**SHERLOCK: ... said trained at Bart’s, so Army doctor – obvious. Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists. You’ve been abroad, but not sunbathing. Your limp’s really bad when you walk but you don’t ask for a chair when you stand, like you’ve forgotten about it, so it’s at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan – Afghanistan or Iraq.**

“Wow,” Anderson said. “It all seems so simple when he puts it all in perspective.”

“Yeah, the only talent in it is finding all of the important pieces and putting them together. Besides, there’s more,” John replied.

**JOHN: You said I had a therapist.**

**SHERLOCK: You’ve got a psychosomatic limp – of course you’ve got a therapist. Then there’s your brother.**

**JOHN: Hmm?**

**SHERLOCK (holding his hand out): Your phone. It’s expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player, but you’re looking for a flatshare – you wouldn’t waste money on this. It’s a gift, then.**

**John gives him the phone. Sherlock turns it over and looks at it again as he talks.**

**SHERLOCK: Scratches. Not one, many over time. It’s been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn’t treat his one luxury item like this, so it’s had a previous owner. Next bit’s easy. You know it already.**

**JOHN: The engraving.**

**Engraved on the back of the phone are the words**

*****

**Harry Watson**

**From Clara**

**xxx**

*****

**SHERLOCK: Harry Watson: clearly a family member who’s given you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young man’s gadget. Could be a cousin, but you’re a war hero who can’t find a place to live. Unlikely you’ve got an extended family, certainly not one you’re close to, so brother it is. Now, Clara. Who’s Clara? Three kisses says it’s a romantic attachment. The expense of the phone says wife, not girlfriend. She must have given it to him recently – this model’s only six months old. Marriage in trouble then – six months on he’s just given it away. If she’d left him, he would have kept it. People do – sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it. He left her. He gave the phone to you: that says he wants you to stay in touch. You’re looking for cheap accommodation, but you’re not going to your brother for help: that says you’ve got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife; maybe you don’t like his drinking.**

**JOHN: How can you possibly know about the drinking?**

**SHERLOCK (smiling): Shot in the dark. Good one, though. Power connection: tiny little scuff marks around the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man’s phone; never see a drunk’s without them.**

**(He hands the phone back.)**

**SHERLOCK: There you go, you see – you were right.**

“John was right? Sherlock was the one explaining everything,” Anderson said, clearly confused.

**JOHN: I was right? Right about what?**

**SHERLOCK: The police don’t consult amateurs.**

**He looks out of the side window, biting his lip nervously while he awaits John’s reaction.**

“Why’s the freak look nervous?” Donovan asked.

“Because of people like you who think he’s a freak for being able to do that,” John snarled in reply.

Donovan fell silent, thinking over what John just said as the images on the screen continue.

**JOHN: That ... was amazing.**

**Sherlock looks at him, apparently so surprised that he can’t even reply for the next four seconds.**

**SHERLOCK: Do you think so?**

**JOHN: Of course, it was. It was extraordinary; it was quite extraordinary.**

**SHERLOCK: That’s not what people normally say.**

**JOHN: What do people normally say?**

**SHERLOCK: “Piss off”!**

**He smiles briefly at John, who grins and turns away to look out of the window as the journey continues.**

“Oh, poor Sherlock,” Mrs. Hudson said.

**BRIXTON.**

**The cab has arrived at Lauriston Gardens and Sherlock and John get out and walk towards the police tape strung across the road.**

**SHERLOCK: Did I get anything wrong?**

“Why is he asking?” Lestrade questioned, “He never askes if he’s got anything wrong.”

**JOHN: Harry and me don’t get on, never have. Clara and Harry split up three months ago and they’re getting a divorce; and Harry is a drinker.**

**SHERLOCK (looking impressed with himself): Spot on, then. I didn’t expect to be right about everything.**

“Really?” Anderson asked.

**JOHN: And Harry’s short for Harriet.**

**Sherlock stops dead in his tracks.**

“What? The frea-” Donovan stopped herself, “ _He_ actually got something wrong?”

**SHERLOCK: Harry’s your sister.**

**JOHN (continuing onwards): Look, what exactly am I supposed to be doing here?**

**SHERLOCK (furiously, through gritted teeth): Sister!**

**JOHN: No, seriously, what am I doing here?**

**SHERLOCK (exasperated, starting to walk again): There’s always something.**

“Always something? Not that I’ve ever seen,” Lestrade said, leaning back as he crossed his arms in surprise.

**They approach the police tape where they are met by Sergeant Donovan.**

“Well, there I am. Freak’s gonna be annoying as usual, just you see,” Donovan said, clearly forgetting what Sherlock had said to her that time, only that she didn’t like it.

**DONOVAN: Hello, freak.**

**SHERLOCK: I’m here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade.**

**DONOVAN: Why?**

**SHERLOCK: I was invited.**

**DONOVAN: Why?**

**SHERLOCK (sarcastically): I _think_ he wants me to take a look. **

**DONOVAN: Well, you know what I think, don’t you?**

**SHERLOCK (lifting the tape and ducking underneath it): Always, Sally. (He breathes in through his nose.) I even know you didn’t make it home last night.**

“How’d he figure that out by smelling you?” Lestrade asked, raising his eyebrow at Donovan. She and Anderson turned red, only proceeding to confuse the Detective Inspector even more.

**DONOVAN: I don’t ... (She looks at John.) Er, who’s this?**

**SHERLOCK: Colleague of mine, Doctor Watson.**

**He turns to John.**

**SHERLOCK: Doctor Watson, Sergeant Sally Donovan. (His voice drips with sarcasm.) Old friend.**

**DONOVAN: A colleague? How do you get a colleague?!**

“Apparently by needing someone to help him pay for a place to live,” John rumbled sarcastically.

Donovan merely sent a glare in his direction.

**She turns to John.**

**DONOVAN: What, did he follow you home?**

“If you want to see it like that, yes, I guess he did,” John said. He had a thoughtful look on his face.

Donovan turned a slight shade of pink. That _did_ make sense, though not in the sense that she had assumed because technically, it was also Sherlock’s home.

**JOHN: Would it be better if I just waited and ...**

**SHERLOCK (lifting the tape for him): No.**

**As John walks under the tape, Donovan lifts a radio to her mouth.**

**DONOVAN (into radio): Freak’s here. Bringing him in.**

**She leads the boys towards the house. Sherlock looks all around the area and at the ground as they approach. As they reach the pavement, a man dressed in a coverall comes out of the house.**

**SHERLOCK: Ah, Anderson. Here we are again.**

**Anderson looks at him with distaste.**

**ANDERSON: It’s a crime scene. I don’t want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?**

**SHERLOCK (taking in another deep breath through his nose): Quite clear. And is your wife away for long?**

**ANDERSON: Oh, don’t pretend you worked that out. Somebody told you that.**

**SHERLOCK: Your deodorant told me that.**

**ANDERSON: My deodorant?**

**SHERLOCK (with a quirky expression on his face): It’s for men.**

**ANDERSON: Well, of course it’s for men! I’m wearing it!**

**SHERLOCK: So’s Sergeant Donovan.**

“Is Sherlock implying that you two…?” Lestrade began, pointing at his two co-workers. They avoided his eyes, blushing bright red.

**Anderson looks round in shock at Donovan. Sherlock sniffs pointedly.**

**SHERLOCK: Ooh, and I think it just vaporized. May I go in?**

**ANDERSON (turning back and pointing at him angrily): Now look: whatever you’re trying to imply ...**

**SHERLOCK: I’m not implying anything.**

**He heads past Donovan towards the front door.**

**SHERLOCK: I’m sure Sally came round for a nice little chat, and just happened to stay over.**

**He turns back.**

**SHERLOCK: And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees.**

At that point, Mrs. Hudson began chuckling behind her fingers. “Sherlock dear,” she said, trying to sound scolding, though her laughter ruined the firmness of it.

**Anderson and Donovan stare at him in horror. He smiles smugly, then turns and goes into the house. John walks past Donovan, briefly but pointedly looking down to her knees, then follows Sherlock inside. Sherlock leads him into a room on the ground floor where Lestrade is putting on a coverall. Sherlock points to a pile of similar items.**

**SHERLOCK (to John): You need to wear one of these.**

**LESTRADE: Who’s this?**

**SHERLOCK (taking his gloves off): He’s with me.**

**LESTRADE: But who is he?**

**SHERLOCK: I said he’s with me.**

**John has taken off his jacket and picks up a coverall. He looks at Sherlock who has picked up a pair of latex gloves.**

**JOHN (referring to the coverall): Aren’t you gonna put one on?**

**Sherlock just looks at him sternly. John shakes his head as if to say, ‘Silly me. What was I thinking?!’**

**SHERLOCK (to Lestrade): So, where are we?**

**LESTRADE (picking up another pair of latex gloves): Upstairs.**

“Hm. I never thought about it this way, but it really seems like Sherlock uses his deductions about people to defend himself,” John commented.

Lestrade looked back at the screen, though it was black again. There weren’t any words yet, but his eyes remained fixed on it. “It does appear to be that way, doesn’t it?”

“Why though? He’s pretty good at insulting people,” John asked.

“I guess using his deductions to insult others makes him feel clever,” Anderson said. There was a frown on his face as if he was remembering all the times that Sherlock had said something to incriminate him, either about his wife or his appearance or otherwise.

Just then, more words appeared on the screen. _“Enjoying it so far? Have another break. It’s getting a bit late, so rest up. We’ll resume in the morning.”_ After John had finished reading the words aloud, the previously locked door opened on it own. On the other side was another room with seven beds lined up along the walls, a divider keeping them separated. On one side, there were three, and on the other, four. At the end of each section, there was a door marked with the word, _‘toilets’_.

“I guess we men will be on the left,” Lestrade said, pointing to the side with the four beds.

“We’ll see you in the morning,” Molly replied, ushering Mrs. Hudson and Donovan to the right. She closed the dividing door behind them.

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	4. 1x1 Part 3 - A Study in Pink

The next morning, after waking, changing, and washing up, the seven associates of Sherlock Holmes were back in the dimly-lit, theatre-like room, ready to watch the next section of footage.

Strangely enough, there were seven full breakfasts of crispy bacon, scrambled eggs, grilled tomatoes, and toast. Accompanying each plate, there was a cup of tea. After each member of the group had taken their breakfast and were well on the way to eating their food, the video continued.

**Lestrade leads the boys up a circular staircase. He and John are wearing coveralls together with white cotton coverings over their shoes, and latex gloves. Sherlock is putting on latex gloves as they go up the stairs.**

**LESTRADE: I can give you two minutes.**

**SHERLOCK (casually): May need longer.**

“Ha! As if. Two minutes is plenty for someone like Sherlock. I only wish I’d known it back then, because I could’ve laughed instead of had that confused look on my face,” John said. At first, his face was bright, but then it turned darker as he remembered the horrible moment of his friend’s death.

Mrs. Hudson, sensing the man’s sorrow, began rubbing gentle circles on his back, taking his meal and setting it aside, though he’d abandoned it after eating only half of its contents.

**LESTRADE: Her name’s Jennifer Wilson according to her credit cards. We’re running them now for contact details. Hasn’t been here long. Some kids found her.**

**He leads them into a room, two storeys above the ground floor. The room is empty of furniture except for a rocking horse in the far corner. Emergency portable lighting has been set up, presumably by the police. Scaffolding poles hold up part of the ceiling near where a couple of large holes have been knocked through one of the walls. A woman’s body is lying face down on the bare floorboards in the middle of the room. She is wearing a bright pink overcoat and high-heeled pink shoes. Her hands are flat on the floor either side of her head. Sherlock walks a few steps into the room and then stops, holding one hand out in front of himself as he focuses on the corpse. Behind him, John looks at the woman’s body and his face fills with pain and sadness. The three of them stand there silently for several long seconds, then Sherlock looks across to Lestrade.**

**SHERLOCK: Shut up.**

Most people in the room were surprised by the sudden outburst from Sherlock, though John, Mycroft, and Lestrade weren’t as they’d either been there or were used to Sherlock’s quirks.

**LESTRADE (startled): I didn’t say anything.**

**SHERLOCK: You were thinking. It’s annoying.**

“Can’t believe I’d ever miss him saying that, but now, I tend to say it to myself when I’m thinking too much,” Lestrade muttered.

**Lestrade and John exchange a surprised look as Sherlock steps slowly forward until he reaches the side of the corpse. His attention is immediately drawn to the fact that scratched into the floorboards near the woman’s left hand is the word “Rache”. His eyes flick to her fingernails where the index and middle nails are broken and ragged at the ends, the pink nail polish chipped in stark comparison to her other nails which are still immaculate. The woman’s index finger rests at the bottom of the ‘e’ as if she was still trying to carve into the floor when she died. Sherlock makes an instant deduction:**

*****

**left-handed**

“Whoa, wait! What is happening?” Donovan cried out in alarm. She and Anderson stared at the screen, as was Lestrade, John, Molly and Mrs. Hudson.

“I assume, very obviously, that we are witnessing my brother’s thought process. Clearly, the person behind this wants us to see what Sherlock is thinking,” Mycroft drawled, his voice betraying his boredom at the other’s confusion.

**He looks back to the word carved into the floorboards and an immediate suggestion springs into his mind:**

*****

**RACHE**

**German (n.) revenge**

“Hey! That’s what I thought!” Anderson cried out, feeling slightly proud of himself.

**Instantly he shakes his head in a tiny dismissive movement and the suggestion disappears. He looks at the carved word again and overlays the five letters with a clearer type. Next to the ‘e’ a rapid progression of letters appears and disappear as he tries to complete the word, then the correct letter settles into place to form the word:**

*****

**Rachel**

“Unfortunately, you have a long way to go from recognizing the first possibility, to getting to the right solution,” Mycroft said to the sullen forensic scientist.

**He squats down beside the body and runs his gloved hand along the back of her coat, then lifts his hand again to look at his fingers:**

*****

**wet**

*****

**He reaches into her coat pockets and finds a white folding umbrella in one of them. Running his fingers along the folds of the material, he then inspects his glove again:**

*****

**dry**

*****

**Putting the umbrella back into her pocket, he moves up to the collar of her coat and runs his fingers underneath it before again looking at his fingers:**

*****

**wet**

*****

**Reaching into his pocket he takes out a small magnifier, clicks it open and closely inspects the delicate gold bracelet on her left wrist ...**

*****

**clean**

*****

**... then the gold earring attached to her left ear ...**

*****

**clean**

*****

**... and then the gold chain around her neck ...**

*****

**clean**

*****

**... before moving on to look at the rings on her left ring finger. The wedding ring and engagement ring flag a different message to him:**

*****

**dirty**

*****

**Sherlock blinks as a rapid succession of conclusions appear in front of his eyes:**

*****

**married**

**unhappily married**

**unhappily married 10+ years**

*****

**Carefully Sherlock works the wedding ring off the woman’s finger and holds it up to look at the inside of the ring. While the outside of the ring is still showing**

*****

**dirty**

*****

**the inside registers as**

*****

**clean**

*****

**As Sherlock lowers the ring and slides it back onto the woman’s finger, he has already reached a conclusion about the ring:**

*****

**regularly removed**

*****

**Lifting his hands away from the woman, he looks down at her and makes his final deduction about her:**

*****

**serial adulterer**

*****

**He smiles slightly in satisfaction.)**

**LESTRADE: Got anything?**

“I’d say he got everything!” Lestrade said, answering his screen-self’s question.

**SHERLOCK (nonchalantly): Not much.**

“What?” the two lower-ranking Yarders cried out in alarm. They were beginning to feel bad. If that was what Sherlock did on a regular basis, no wonder he was so good. He saw everyday things – things that they themselves saw yet overlooked and connected them to form a story of a person’s life in his head. No wonder they needed his help on so many cases if they were this blind.

**Standing up, he takes off the gloves and then gets his mobile phone from his pocket and begins typing on it.**

**ANDERSON (from where he is leaning casually against the doorway): She’s German. ‘Rache’: it’s German for ‘revenge’. She could be trying to tell us something ...**

**While he was speaking, Sherlock has walked quickly towards the door and now begins to close it in Anderson’s face.**

“Sherlock!” Mrs. Hudson scolded again. She didn’t even know why she was scolding him since he was gone… She looked down sadly. He was gone. She’d never be able to scold him again for doing such things as he did.

**SHERLOCK (sarcastically): Yes, thank you for your input.**

**Slamming the door shut, he turns and walks back into the room. On his phone, he has called up a menu for “UK Weather”. The menu offers five options:**

*****

**Maps**

**Local**

**Warnings**

**Next 24 hrs**

**7 day forecast**

*****

**He selects the Maps option.**

**LESTRADE: So, she’s German?**

**SHERLOCK (still looking at his phone): Of course, she’s not. She’s from out of town, though. Intended to stay in London for one night ... (he smiles smugly when he apparently finds the information he needed) ... before returning home to Cardiff.**

**He pockets his phone.**

**SHERLOCK: So far, so obvious.**

“Well, now that we’re seeing it from his perspective, it is obvious,” John said. He was intrigued by seeing this scene again, though through Sherlock’s eyes. Back then, he’d been so confused, and he remembered playing the scene through his head on the taxi ride back to the flat. Now, it all seemed to make sense. No wonder Sherlock was so bored with people who couldn’t follow his thoughts: it was all so easy for him.

**JOHN: Sorry – obvious?**

**LESTRADE: What about the message, though?**

**SHERLOCK (ignoring him and looking at John): Doctor Watson, what do you think?**

**JOHN: Of the message?**

**SHERLOCK: Of the body. You’re a medical man.**

**LESTRADE: Wait, no, we have a whole team right outside.**

**SHERLOCK: They won’t work with me.**

**LESTRADE: I’m breaking every rule letting you in here.**

**SHERLOCK: Yes ... because you need me.**

“That doesn’t mean that you can just do whatever you want, Sherlock,” John said quietly, well aware that he was talking to a television.

**Lestrade stares at him for a moment, then lowers his eyes helplessly.**

**LESTRADE: Yes, I do. God help me.**

**SHERLOCK: Doctor Watson.**

**JOHN: Hm?**

**He looks up from the body to Sherlock and then turns his head towards Lestrade, silently seeking his permission.**

**LESTRADE (a little tetchily): Oh, do as he says. Help yourself.**

**He turns and opens the door, going outside.**

**LESTRADE: Anderson, keep everyone out for a couple of minutes.**

**Sherlock and John walk over to the body. Sherlock squats down on one side of it and John painfully lowers himself to one knee on the other side, leaning heavily on his cane to support himself.**

**SHERLOCK: Well?**

**JOHN (softly): What am I doing here?**

**SHERLOCK (softly): Helping me make a point.**

**JOHN (softly): I’m supposed to be helping you pay the rent.**

**SHERLOCK (softly): Yeah, well, this is more fun.**

**JOHN: Fun? There’s a woman lying dead.**

**SHERLOCK: Perfectly sound analysis, but I was hoping you’d go deeper.**

“How come John gets a compliment for _that_ and when I saw something that actually takes some thinking, I just get a telling off?” Anderson whined.

“Because my brother likes John. The good doctor doesn’t label him a freak, and he thinks that Sherlock’s deductions are brilliant. Obviously,” Mycroft said.

**Lestrade comes back into the room and stands just inside the doorway, and John drags his other leg down into a kneeling position and then leans forward to look more closely at the woman’s body. He puts his head close to hers and sniffs, then straightens a little before lifting her right hand and looking at the skin. He kneels up and looks across to Sherlock.)**

**JOHN: Yeah ... Asphyxiation, probably. Passed out, choked on her own vomit. Can’t smell any alcohol on her. It could have been a seizure; possibly drugs.**

**SHERLOCK: You know what it was. You’ve read the papers.**

**JOHN: What, she’s one of the suicides? The fourth ...?**

**LESTRADE: Sherlock – two minutes, I said. I need anything you’ve got.**

**SHERLOCK (standing up, while John struggles to get to his feet): Victim is in her late thirties. Professional person, going by her clothes; I’m guessing something in the media, going by the frankly alarming shade of pink. Travelled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night. It’s obvious from the size of her suitcase.**

**LESTRADE: Suitcase?**

**John looks around the room but can’t see a suitcase anywhere.**

**SHERLOCK: Suitcase, yes. She’s been married at least ten years, but not happily. She’s had a string of lovers but none of them knew she was married.**

**LESTRADE: Oh, for God’s sake, if you’re just making this up ...**

“Now that I’m seeing what he saw, it’s so clear that he wasn’t making it up, but back then…” Lestrade said, trailing off. He didn’t need to explain; everyone knew what he meant.

**SHERLOCK (pointing down to her left hand): Her wedding ring. Ten years old at least. The rest of her jewellery has been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring. State of her marriage right there. The inside of the ring is shinier than the outside – that means it’s regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It’s not for work; look at her nails. She doesn’t work with her hands, so what or rather who does she remove her rings for? Clearly not one lover; she’d never sustain the fiction of being single over that amount of time, so more likely a string of them. Simple.**

**JOHN (admiringly): That’s brilliant.**

**Sherlock looks round at him.**

**JOHN (apologetically): Sorry.**

“D’you realize that because of John’s little outbursts, Sherlock is actually enjoying explaining his clues aloud?” Molly asked.

“Of course, he does. When we were growing up, Sherlock had only me to compare himself to. Since I was much older, I was therefore smarter. He thought he was an idiot for the longest time,” Mycroft said.

“Really?” John asked, an incredulous look on his face. The others in the room had turned to Mycroft as well, similar expressions on their faces.

Mycroft nodded and continued. “When we finally met other children our own ages, Sherlock was quite pleased. He always wanted to tell others how clever he was, that he wasn’t the idiot he’d thought; they were. When they started to tease him about it, he stopped, but I guess that our dear friend John Watson has stirred up those feelings in my brother.”

At those words, John blushed slightly. His heart warmed at the thought of Sherlock feeling a little more normal because of him. The man, though horrendous at times, was a great friend.

**LESTRADE: Cardiff?**

**SHERLOCK: It’s obvious, isn’t it?**

**JOHN: It’s not obvious to me.**

**SHERLOCK (pausing as he looks at the other two): Dear God, what is it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring.**

“Well that much is obvious now,” John said, “A little too late.”

“It’s a bit funny how he wonders what it’s like for us while we’re wondering what it’s like for them, don’t you think?” Anderson asked.

“Yeah, I guess,” Lestrade answered. “Not anymore on our sides. Or his, though for different reasons.”

**He turns back to the body.**

**SHERLOCK: Her coat: it’s slightly damp. She’s been in heavy rain in the last few hours. No rain anywhere in London in that time. Under her coat collar is damp, too. She’s turned it up against the wind. She’s got an umbrella in her left-hand pocket but it’s dry and unused: not just wind, strong wind – too strong to use her umbrella. We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay overnight, so she must have come a decent distance, but she can’t have travelled more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn’t dried. So, where has there been heavy rain and strong wind within the radius of that travel time?**

**He gets his phone from his pocket and shows to the other two the webpage he was looking at earlier, displaying today’s weather for the southern part of Britain.**

**SHERLOCK: Cardiff.**

**JOHN: That’s fantastic!**

**SHERLOCK (turning to him and speaking in a low voice): D’you know you do that out loud?**

“Yeah, John. _Did_ you know that?” Lestrade asked, jokingly.

“Shut up, Greg,” John grumbled.

**JOHN: Sorry. I’ll shut up.**

**SHERLOCK: No, it’s ... fine.**

**LESTRADE: Why d’you keep saying suitcase?**

**SHERLOCK (spinning around in a circle to look around the room): Yes, where is it? She must have had a phone or an organizer. Find out who Rachel is.**

**LESTRADE: She was writing ‘Rachel’?**

**SHERLOCK (sarcastically): No, she was leaving an angry note in German! Of course she was writing Rachel; no other word it can be. Question is: why did she wait until she was dying to write it?**

**LESTRADE: How d’you know she had a suitcase?**

**SHERLOCK (pointing down to the body, where her tights have small black splotches on the lower part of her right leg): Back of the right leg: tiny splash marks on the heel and calf, not present on the left. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand. Don’t get that splash pattern any other way. Smallish case, going by the spread. Case that size, woman this clothes-conscious: could only be an overnight bag, so we know she was staying one night.**

**He squats down by the woman’s body and examines the backs of her legs more closely.**

“Okay, so there _was_ a suitcase, but that doesn’t explain where it was or how Sherlock somehow had it later,” Anderson said grudgingly.

His comment was ignored.

**SHERLOCK: Now, where is it? What have you done with it?**

**LESTRADE: There wasn’t a case.**

**Slowly Sherlock raises his head and frowns up at Lestrade.**

**SHERLOCK: Say that again.**

**LESTRADE: There wasn’t a case. There was never any suitcase.**

“How many times are you going to say that before you realize that it must’ve been taken?” Mycroft asked. He sighed. “Such simple minds.”

**Immediately Sherlock straightens up and heads for the door, calling out to all the police officers in the house as he begins to hurry down the stairs.**

**SHERLOCK: Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase? Was there a suitcase in this house?**

**Lestrade and John follow him out and stop on the landing. Lestrade calls down the stairs.**

**LESTRADE: Sherlock, there was no case!**

**SHERLOCK (slowing down, but still making his way down the stairs): But they take the poison themselves; they chew, swallow the pills themselves. There are clear signs. Even you lot couldn’t miss them.**

**LESTRADE: Right, yeah, thanks! And ...?**

**SHERLOCK: It’s murder, all of them. I don’t know how, but they’re not suicides, they’re killings – serial killings.**

**He holds his hands up in front of his face in delight.**

**SHERLOCK: We’ve got ourselves a serial killer. I love those. There’s always something to look forward to.**

“Like I said, he’s a _freak_! Who else would enjoy serial killers? It’s like it’s all a game to him!” Donovan shouted.

**LESTRADE: Why are you saying that?**

**SHERLOCK (stopping and calling up to the others): Her case! Come on, where is her case? Did she eat it? Someone else was here, and they took her case. (More quietly, as if talking to himself) So the killer must have driven her here; forgot the case was in the car.**

“Obviously, the cabbie. We’re now seeing all the clues play out,” Molly said.

**JOHN: She could have checked into a hotel, left her case there.**

**SHERLOCK (looking up the stairs again): No, she never got to the hotel. Look at her hair. She colour-coordinates her lipstick and her shoes. She’d never have left any hotel with her hair still looking ...**

**He stops talking as he makes a realization.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh.**

**His eyes widen and his face lights up.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh!**

**He claps his hands together in delight.**

“What is he realizing?” Molly asked.

“He’s figured out the mistake,” John said.

**JOHN: Sherlock?**

**LESTRADE (leaning over the railings): What is it, what?**

**SHERLOCK (smiling cheerfully to himself): Serial killers are always hard. You have to wait for them to make a mistake.**

**LESTRADE: We can’t just wait!**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, we’re done waiting!**

**He starts to hurry down the stairs again.**

**SHERLOCK: Look at her, really look! Houston, we have a mistake. Get on to Cardiff: find out who Jennifer Wilson’s family and friends were. Find Rachel!**

“Isn’t it ‘Houston, we have a problem’?” Mrs. Hudson asked.

“Not to Sherlock,” Lestrade replied.

“I’m surprised that Sherlock even made that reference at all. I guess it wasn’t useless enough to ‘delete’ as he would say,” John said.

Lestrade let out a laugh as he remembered a few other things that Sherlock had ‘deleted’.

**He reaches the bottom of the stairs and disappears from view.**

**LESTRADE (calling after him): Of course, yeah – but what mistake?!**

**Sherlock comes back into view and runs up a couple of stairs so that he can be seen before he stops and yells up to Lestrade.**

**SHERLOCK: PINK!**

“You know, I’m now realizing that when he acts like that, it’s hard to not think he’s a psychopath, even though he’s not,” Lestrade observed.

“See?” Donovan asked.

“At least he can figure out murders that no one else can,” John spat back at Donovan.

“What use is that if everything thinks that he’s the one who did the killing in the first place?” the sergeant snarled.

“That’s only because you made them think that. Sherlock wasn’t a fraud! You’re seeing proof of that now! How can you still deny it?” John’s voice was rising.

“John, calm down. Surely, they’ll figure it out. We have to give their slow minds time to catch up,” Mycroft said, his voice cold.

**He hurries off again. Lestrade, baffled, turns and goes back into the room while Anderson and his team, who had been waiting on the next landing down, hurry up the stairs and follow him into the room.**

**ANDERSON: Let’s get on with it.**

**Forgotten by everyone else, John hesitates on the landing for a moment and then slowly starts making his way down the stairs. A couple more police officers hurry up and one of them bumps against him, throwing him off-balance and making him lurch heavily against the bannisters. The man hurries on without a word, although his colleague does at least look apologetically at John as he passes. John regains his balance and continues down the stairs.**

**Shortly afterwards he has removed his coverall and put his jacket back on, and now walks out onto the street. Looking all around, he can see no sign of Sherlock. He walks towards the police tape, still looking around. Donovan, standing at the tape, sees him.**

**DONOVAN: He’s gone.**

**JOHN: Who, Sherlock Holmes?**

**DONOVAN: Yeah, he just took off. He does that.**

**JOHN: Is he coming back?**

**DONOVAN: Didn’t look like it.**

**JOHN: Right.**

**He looks around the area again thoughtfully, unsure what to do.**

**JOHN: Right ... Yes.**

**He turns to Donovan again.**

**JOHN: Sorry, where am I?**

**DONOVAN: Brixton.**

**JOHN: Right. Er, d’you know where I could get a cab? It’s just, er ... well ... (he looks down awkwardly at his walking stick) ... my leg.**

“Hey, whatever happened to your limp? After that, it just seemed to be…gone,” Lestrade asked.

John just smiled. “Oh, that’s thanks to Sherlock, too.”

“Wait…what?”

Lestrade’s follow-up question was ignored.

**DONOVAN: Er ... (she steps over to the tape and lifts it for him) ... try the main road.**

**JOHN (ducking under the tape): Thanks.**

**DONOVAN: But you’re not his friend.**

**John turns back towards her.**

**DONOVAN: He doesn’t have friends. So, who are you?**

**JOHN: I’m ... I’m nobody. I just met him.**

“That’s true,” John said, “Too bad no one believed it.”

**DONOVAN: Okay, bit of advice then: stay away from that guy.**

“Well, that didn’t quite work out, did it?” Lestrade asked sarcastically.

“It’s not like I could’ve. I needed a place to live, too,” John said.

Donovan just looked away from the two, her arms crossed, and her face pinched into a scowl.

**JOHN: Why?**

**DONOVAN: You know why he’s here? He’s not paid or anything. He likes it. He gets off on it. The weirder the crime, the more he gets off. And you know what? One day just showing up won’t be enough. One day we’ll be standing 'round a body and Sherlock Holmes’ll be the one that put it there.**

“I was right about that, wasn’t I?” Donovan asked, “He was behind it all. The facts don’t lie.”

“No, he wasn’t. Your facts are wrong,” John replied lowly, his face darkening with anger.

**JOHN: Why would he do that?**

**DONOVAN: Because he’s a psychopath. And psychopaths get bored.**

Mycroft laughed. “I believe my brother prefers the term ‘high-functioning sociopath’, sergeant,” he commented.

**LESTRADE (calling from the entrance to the house): Donovan!**

**DONOVAN (turning and calling to him): Coming.**

**She turns back towards John as she walks towards the house.**

**DONOVAN: Stay away from Sherlock Holmes.**

**John watches her go for a moment, then turns and begins to limp off down the road. To his right, the phone in a public telephone box begins to ring. He stops and looks at it for a few seconds but then looks down at his watch, shakes his head and continues down the road. The phone stops ringing.**

“What’s going on?” Lestrade asked, his eyebrows furrowing as he stares at the screen.

John’s mouth pressed itself into a firm line. “This is where I meet Sherlock’s arch-nemesis,” he replied.

“What? Moriarty?”

John shook his head.

“Of course not. Moriarty doesn’t even exist,” Anderson pointed out.

“Yes, he did, but this wasn’t Moriarty,” John replied. “Just watch, and you’ll see.”

**Not long afterwards, John is walking down what may well be Brixton High Road. He tries to hail a passing taxi.**

**JOHN: Taxi! Taxi ...**

**The taxi passes him by. In Chicken Cottage, the fast-food restaurant outside which John is standing, the payphone on the wall begins to ring. John turns and looks as one of the serving staff walks over to it but as he reaches for the phone, it stops. John walks on down the road and shortly afterwards approaches another public telephone box. The phone inside starts to ring. Mystified by this, he pulls open the door, goes inside and lifts the phone.**

“John, dear, what are you doing, answering random payphones in the street?” Mrs. Hudson asked.

“It would stop ringing for everyone except me. I assumed that it was for me. Somehow,” John replied.

**JOHN: Hello?**

**A man’s voice speaks down the phone.**

**MAN’s VOICE: There is a security camera on the building to your left. Do you see it?**

“Oh!” A collaborative sigh of realization flooded the room.

“It was Mycroft!” Lestrade exclaimed.

**JOHN (frowning): Who’s this? Who’s speaking?**

**MAN’s VOICE: Do you see the camera, Doctor Watson?**

**John looks through the window of the phone box at the CCTV camera high up on the wall of a nearby building.**

**JOHN: Yeah, I see it.**

**MAN’s VOICE: Watch.**

**The camera, which was pointing directly at the phone box, now swivels away.**

**MAN’s VOICE: There is another camera on the building opposite you. Do you see it?**

**John looks across to the second camera, which is also pointed towards the phone box.**

**JOHN: Mmm-hmm.**

**The camera immediately swivels away.**

**MAN’s VOICE: And finally, at the top of the building on your right.**

**John stares up into the third camera which is watching him, but which now turns away.**

**JOHN (into phone): How are you doing this?**

**MAN’s VOICE: Get into the car, Doctor Watson.**

**A black car pulls up at the kerbside near the phone. The male driver gets out and opens the rear door.**

**MAN’s VOICE: I would make some sort of threat, but I’m sure your situation is quite clear to you.**

**The phone goes dead. John puts it down and looks thoughtful for a long moment, then apparently decides that there’s not much else he can do and turns to leave the phone box.**

“Hey, Mycroft, why’d you have to do that in such a creepy way?” Molly asked. “You could’ve just phoned John. You know, on his phone. It would’ve been easier to get his number than to contact him the way you did.”

Mycroft just smiled. “Sherlock isn’t the only one who gets bored,” he answered.

“Obviously, it was a power play,” Lestrade said.

**A few moments later he is sitting in the back seat of the car as it pulls away and drives off. An attractive young woman is sitting beside him, her eyes fixed on her BlackBerry while she types on it. She is pretty much ignoring him.**

**JOHN: Hello.**

**WOMAN (smiling brightly at him for a moment before returning her gaze to her phone): Hi.**

**JOHN: What’s your name, then?**

**WOMAN: Er ... Anthea.**

**JOHN: Is that your real name?**

**WOMAN (smiling): No.**

“What _is_ her real name?” John asked, “We never found out.”

**John nods then twists to look out of the rear window briefly before turning back again.**

**JOHN: I’m John.**

**NOT-ANTHEA: Yes. I know.**

**JOHN: Any point in asking where I’m going?**

**NOT-ANTHEA: None at all ...**

**She turns and smiles briefly at him, then looks back at her phone again.**

**NOT-ANTHEA: ... John.**

**JOHN: Okay.**

“You were pretty cooperative,” Lestrade observed.

“Wouldn’t you be too if that happened to you?” John asked.

Lestrade shrugged. “I guess, though I haven’t been…lucky enough to be on Mycroft’s radar. He never kidnapped me just to talk.”

“Well, he is practically your boss already. You do whatever he tells you to do.”

“What? No, I don’t!” Lestrade protested.

John smiled a thin smile. “Remember Baskerville?” he asked.

Lestrade shuddered. “I’d prefer to forget that place if you don’t mind. No more genetically enhanced demon hounds for me.”

“It wasn’t a demon hound, Lestrade. It was just a dog,” John reminded him with a sigh.

The two other Yarders, Molly, and Mrs. Hudson turned to the two men, confused.

John shrugged. “I put it on the blog. Haven’t you read ‘the Hound of Baskerville?”

Their eyes widened. “Right,” was the collective response.

Finally, they turned their attention back to the television. It had stopped again. The screen was black, and there were new words: _“Finish up the last of your breakfast before I take it away. Then, we can continue.”_

They all looked down at their plates, most of which still had food on them, as they’d been too distracted by the video to eat. Quickly finishing their meals until each of them were full, six of the seven watched in amazement as the plates disappeared right before their eyes.

“Has anyone figured out how he – or she – does that?” Molly asked.

The Yarders, John, Mrs. Hudson, and Molly turned to Mycroft, who was the most likely to have figured it out. He shook his head.

“This has never happened before. It shouldn’t be possible. Whatever is happening is defying the laws of physics,” he explained.

“We must all be drugged,” John said, though his tone made it clear that he was joking.

“Could be,” Lestrade said thoughtfully, no sense of humour in his voice.

“You can’t be serious, Greg! You really think that we’ve all been drugged? It can’t be! We wouldn’t all be having the same dream!” John replied.

Lestrade shrugged. “Do you have a better explanation?” he asked.

John shook his head. “I guess not. I guess we should keep watching now, seeing as we’ve all finished. When do you think it will start?”

The screen flashed.

“Now,” Molly said, and they all returned their attention to the screen.

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	5. 1x1 Part 4 - A Study in Pink

“This is when I meet Mycroft. Unfortunately, I have no idea who he is,” John said. “You could’ve at least told me you were his brother and not some psycho trying to kill him!” The last bit was directed at the man in question.

Mycroft merely shrugged. “Where’s the fun in that, John?” he asked.

John threw his hands up in the air. “Of course, you wanted it to be interesting! I should’ve known! You _are_ Sherlock’s brother after all,” he said, though overstressing his words in a sarcastic tone.

**Sometime later, the car pulls into an almost-empty warehouse. A man in a suit is standing in the centre of the area, leaning nonchalantly on an umbrella as he watches the car stop and John get out.**

“Well, that’s not suspicious at all. No wonder John dear thought you were bad news, Mycroft,” Mrs. Hudson pointed out.

**In front of the man is a straight-backed armless chair facing him. He gestures to it with the point of his umbrella as John limps towards him leaning heavily on his cane.**

**MAN: Have a seat, John.**

**John continues towards him, his voice calm.**

**JOHN: You know, I’ve got a phone.**

“Just like I pointed out,” Molly said, her voice flat, though there was a slightly proud undertone.

**He looks around the warehouse.**

**JOHN: I mean, very clever and all that, but er ... you could just phone me. On my phone.**

**He walks straight past the chair and stops a few paces in front of the man.**

**MAN: When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes, one learns to be discreet, hence this place.**

“I guess that makes sense. Why, though, confuses me, because Sherlock doesn’t notice when I leave the house most times,” John said.

**His voice, which has had a pleasant smile in it so far, now becomes a little sterner towards the end of the next phrase.**

**MAN: The leg must be hurting you. Sit down.**

**JOHN: I don’t wanna sit down.**

“Way to sound like a bratty kid, John,” Lestrade teased.

**The man looks at him curiously.**

**MAN: You don’t seem very afraid.**

**JOHN: You don’t seem very frightening.**

**The man chuckles.**

**MAN: Ah, yes. The bravery of the soldier. Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don’t you think?**

“That’s kind of rude, don’t you think? Someone can be brave _and_ smart,” Anderson grumbled.

“And as my brother would say, ‘you are neither’,” Mycroft told the scientist.

**He looks at John sternly.**

**MAN: What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?**

**JOHN: I don’t have one. I barely know him. I met him ...**

**He looks away thoughtfully, then appears surprised as if he hadn’t realized until now how little time has passed.**

**JOHN: ... yesterday.**

**MAN: Mmm, and since yesterday you’ve moved in with him and now you’re solving crimes together. Might we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?**

John threw his hands up once more in frustration. “Why does _everyone_ think that I’m dating Sherlock?” he demanded, his voice rising with each word.

“Aren’t you?” Mycroft asked with a smirk. Obviously, he was teasing the shorter man.

“I don’t think that you’re dating Sherlock,” Molly said quietly.

“That’s because _you_ want to date him,” Lestrade pointed out. The pathologist blushed profusely at his words.

“Why, I don’t know,” Donovan added with a sneer.

**JOHN: Who are you?**

“You mean other than the guy who kidnapped you off the street?” Anderson asked rhetorically.

Mycroft just glared at the forensic scientist.

**MAN: An interested party.**

**JOHN: Interested in Sherlock? Why? I’m guessing you’re not friends.**

**MAN: You’ve met him. How many ‘friends’ do you imagine he has? I am the closest thing to a friend that Sherlock Holmes is capable of having.**

**JOHN: And what’s that?**

**MAN: An enemy.**

“Dramatic much?” Donovan asked.

**JOHN: An enemy?**

**MAN: In his mind, certainly. If you were to ask him, he’d probably say his arch-enemy. He does love to be dramatic.**

**John looks pointedly around the warehouse.**

**JOHN (sarcastically): Well, thank God, you’re above all that.**

“He has a point, Mycroft,” Lestrade whispered to him.

**The man frowns at him. Just then John’s phone trills a text alert. He immediately digs into his jacket pocket, takes out the phone and activates it, looking at the message while ignoring the man in front of him. The message reads:**

*****

**Baker Street.**

**Come at once**

**if convenient.**

**SH**

“He said, ‘if convenient’? That’s a surprise. He usually _tells_ people what to do, not _asks_ ,” Lestrade said.

**MAN: I hope I’m not distracting you.**

**JOHN (casually): Not distracting me at all.**

**He takes his time looking up from the phone before he pockets it.**

**MAN: Do you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes?**

**JOHN: I could be wrong ... but I think that’s none of your business.**

**MAN (a little ominously): It could be.**

“It still could,” Mycroft reminded John.

John didn’t answer.

**JOHN: It really couldn’t.**

“Loyal, aren’t you, John?” Mrs. Hudson asked with a cheerful smile on her face.

**The man takes a notebook from his inside pocket, then opens it and consults it as he speaks.**

**MAN: If you do move into, um ... two hundred and twenty-one B Baker Street, I’d be happy to pay you a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis to ease your way.**

“John, I know now why you wouldn’t take the deal, but what about back then? He was willing to pay you a lot of money to spy on Sherlock, and you’d only just met the guy,” Lestrade said.

John shrugged. “I guess my instincts just told me that I couldn’t trust him. He was rather shady when we first met.”

**He closes the notebook and puts it away again.**

**JOHN: Why?**

**MAN: Because you’re not a wealthy man.**

**JOHN: In exchange for what?**

**MAN: Information. Nothing indiscreet. Nothing you’d feel ... uncomfortable with. Just tell me what he’s up to.**

**JOHN: Why?**

**MAN: I worry about him. Constantly.**

“Aw!” Molly cried, “Brotherly compassion! Finally. I thought that we’d never see that from either of you two!”

**JOHN (insincerely): That’s nice of you.**

**MAN: But I would prefer for various reasons that my concern go unmentioned. We have what you might call a ... difficult relationship.**

**John’s phone sounds another text alert. Again, he immediately fishes the phone out and looks at the message which reads:**

*****

**If inconvenient,**

**come anyway.**

**SH**

“Oh, so Sherlock really _doesn’t_ care if you’re doing something. I take back what I said earlier,” Lestrade said with an unsurprised sigh.

**JOHN (in response to the man’s offer): No.**

**MAN: But I haven’t mentioned a figure.**

**JOHN (putting his phone away again): Don’t bother.**

**MAN (laughing briefly): You’re very loyal, very quickly.**

“That’s true. John, here, has a knack for finding the right people. He always sees the best in them. Even if it’s as deeply buried as Sherlock’s,” Mrs. Hudson said, wrapping her bony hand around John’s arm with a smile on her face.

The man regarded her with kind eyes as he recalled the happy memories with Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock at their flat. The old woman, though sometimes a little strange, truly seemed to care for Sherlock and himself, and continued to mother them and clean around their flat though she countlessly reminded them that she “wasn’t their housekeeper”.

**JOHN: No, I’m not. I’m just not interested.**

**The man looks at him closely for a moment, then takes out his notebook and opens it again.**

**MAN (gesturing slightly to make it clear that he is reading a note from the book): “Trust issues,” it says here.**

**For the first time since their encounter began, John looks a little unnerved.**

**JOHN: What’s that?**

**MAN (still looking down at his book): Could it be that you’ve decided to trust Sherlock Holmes of all people?**

“I’d say so,” Lestrade said. “I mean, just look at what they’ve accomplished together. Just the two of them against the world. ‘Til death do they part.”

John sighed in frustration, but as he spoke, there was a hint of sorrow in his voice. “For the last time, Greg, Sherlock and I weren’t a couple!”

**JOHN: Who says I trust him?**

**MAN: You don’t seem the kind to make friends easily.**

“Would you expect anything different from a former soldier?” Molly asked, turning her head slightly to look at Mycroft.

The elder Holmes just shook his head, making it clear to the pathologist that he’d only been making conversation, as he’d already known as much as he needed to know about John.

**JOHN: Are we done?**

**The man raises his head and looks into John’s eyes.**

**MAN: You tell me.**

**John looks at him for a long moment, then turns his back on him and starts to walk away.**

**MAN: I imagine people have already warned you to stay away from him, but I can see from your left hand that’s not going to happen.**

“Well, that’s one way to get his attention. Just say something that John would know that Sherlock would say,” Anderson remarked, waving his hand at the screen.

**John stops dead. His shoulders tense and drop and he angrily shakes his head a little. He is clearly furious as he turns back around to face the man.**

**JOHN (savagely, through bared teeth): My wot?**

**MAN (calmly): Show me.**

**He has nodded towards John’s left hand as he speaks, and now he plants the tip of his umbrella on the floor and leans casually on it like a man who is used to having his orders obeyed. John, however, is not going to be intimidated and deliberately shifts his feet under him as if digging in. He raises his left hand, bending it at the elbow, and stands still. His message is clear: if the man wants to look at his hand, he’ll have to come to him. Apparently unperturbed by this belligerence, the man strolls forward, hooking the handle of the umbrella over his arm as he reaches for John’s hand. John instantly pulls his hand back a little.**

“Stubborn, but still compliant. Well, that wraps our John up in a nutshell, doesn’t it?” Mrs. Hudson said, her voice both teasing and affectionate.

**JOHN (tensely): Don’t.**

**The man lowers his head and raises his eyebrows at John, almost as if saying, ‘Did I mention trust issues?!’ John very reluctantly lowers his hand, holding it out flat with the palm down. The man takes it in both of his own hands and looks at it closely.**

**MAN: Remarkable.**

**JOHN (snatching his hand away): What is?**

**MAN (turning and walking a few paces away): Most people blunder around this city, and all they see are streets and shops and cars. When you walk with Sherlock Holmes, you see the battlefield. (He turns towards John again.) You’ve seen it already, haven’t you?**

**JOHN: What’s wrong with my hand?**

**MAN: You have an intermittent tremor in your left hand.**

“Really?” Lestrade asked, “I’ve never seen it.”

**Perhaps unintentionally, John nods his head.**

**MAN: Your therapist thinks it’s post-traumatic stress disorder. She thinks you’re haunted by memories of your military service.**

**John almost flinches as the man accurately fires off these facts at him. His gaze is fixed ahead of him and a muscle in his cheek twitches repeatedly.**

**JOHN (angry and distressed): Who the hell are you? How do you know that?**

**MAN: Fire her. She’s got it the wrong way around. You’re under stress right now and your hand is perfectly steady.**

“Wait. What?” Anderson and Donovan stared at the screen, both equally shocked.

**John’s eyes flicker downwards before returning to stare ahead of himself, his face set and struggling to hold back his anger.**

**MAN: You’re not haunted by the war, Doctor Watson ... you miss it.**

“John’s a freak too!” Donovan screamed. “What kind of person _misses_ being in a war?”

**He leans closer to him. Reluctantly John’s eyes rise up to meet his.**

**MAN (in a whisper): Welcome back.**

“Well, that’s not creepy at all; is it, Mycroft?” Molly asked, turning to the elder Holmes.

**He turns and starts to walk away just as John’s phone trills another text alert.**

**MAN (casually twirling his umbrella as he goes): Time to choose a side, Doctor Watson.**

**John stands fixed to the spot for a few seconds, then turns and glances towards the departing man while, behind John, the car door opens, and not-Anthea gets out and walks a few paces towards him, her attention still riveted to the BlackBerry held in front of her in both hands.**

**NOT-ANTHEA: I’m to take you home.**

**John half-turns towards her then stops and takes out his phone to look at the new message. It reads:**

*****

**Could be dangerous.**

**SH**

“Of course, Sherlock would say that to lure John into another one of his schemes. He can see the same thing in John that Mycroft just described,” Molly said with a sigh. She’d known Sherlock for a long time, and even though she didn’t know him well, she knew his habits.

**Putting the phone back into his pocket, John holds out his left hand in front of him and studies the lack of tremor coming from it. He smiles wryly.**

**NOT-ANTHEA: Address?**

**JOHN (turning and walking towards her): Er, Baker Street. 221B Baker Street. But I need to stop off somewhere first.**

*****

**Later, John opens the door into his bedsit and switches on the light. Walking inside and closing the door behind him, he goes across to the desk and opens the drawer, taking out his pistol. Checking the clip, he tucks the gun into the back of the waistband of his jeans and turns to leave again.**

“Why did you go back to grab your gun?” Anderson asked, raising his eyebrow suspiciously at the army doctor.

**Later again, the car pulls up outside 221B Baker Street. Not-Anthea is still riveted by whatever she’s typing on her phone. John looks across to her.**

**JOHN: Listen, your boss – any chance you could not tell him this is where I went?**

“You really think that she wouldn’t tell Mycroft something like that?” Lestrade asked, raising an eyebrow at the doctor.

John shrugged.

**NOT-ANTHEA (nonchalantly): Sure.**

“Well, obviously she’s already told him,” Molly pointed out, gesturing at the screen.

**JOHN: You’ve told him already, haven’t you?**

**She smiles across to him briefly.**

**NOT-ANTHEA: Yeah.**

**John nods in resignation and turns to get out of the car but just as he has opened the door, he turns back to her.**

**JOHN: Hey, um ... do you ever get any free time?**

“Are you _flirting_ with her?” Anderson asked incredulously, staring at John with a mixture of disgust, shock, and confusion.

“Well, wouldn’t you?” John asked.

“Not after the part that she played in kidnapping me! You don’t even know who Mycroft was at that point. She could’ve been the secretary to a mob boss or something!”

“Good thing it didn’t work out, then,” John said nonchalantly.

**She chuckles.**

**NOT-ANTHEA (sarcastically): Oh, yeah. Lots.**

**John waits expectantly. She continues working her phone for a long moment, then turns and looks at him before allowing her gaze to drift past him to the door of 221B.**

**NOT-ANTHEA: ’Bye.**

**JOHN: Okay.**

**He gets out and closes the door, then watches the car pull away before turning and walking across the pavement to the front door of 221B. He knocks on the door.**

The screen paused again. It was right at the moment after John closed the door, but right before the next scene started, giving its viewers no hints as to what would happen next.

“Well, what now?” Donovan asked. What does out _captor_ expect us to do?”

“Talk about it, I guess,” John replied to the sergeant’s general question.

“Talk about _what_? The freak? I’ve seen nothing so far that can prove he’s not what I think he is. Maybe he can see weird stuff when examining a body, but there was no way he could’ve solved that case without the pink suitcase, which we still don’t know how he got!”

Lestrade nodded slightly with his sergeant’s words, though he didn’t look as if he believed what she was saying. “Well, judging by the timeline of this, I’d expect that Sherlock was back at the flat when John got there.”

“What makes you say that?” Molly asked the DI.

“When we were there, John and Sherlock came in together. Seeing as John is going in alone, we know that they must’ve gone out again. Also, when they came back during our drug’s bust, it was dark outside,” Lestrade explained.

“At least now we know why you’re a detective,” Mycroft said softly.

“What was that?” the detective in question asked.

“According to my brother, you’re one of the idiots, but judging by how you pieced together a timeline without all the answers, at least we know that you have some skills in the field.” His tone wasn’t outrightly harsh, though his words gave everyone in the room obvious hints as to what he meant.

“Well, thanks,” Lestrade said, his tone sarcastic. He then shook his head, trying to wrap his brain around how the Holmes brothers could give such backhanded compliments and be completely okay with themselves doing such a thing.

Suddenly, a new message appeared on the screen. _“Very well done. Now sit back, relax, and enjoy as our story unfolds. And Watson, enjoy your date.”_

As soon as he finished reading the message, John was confused. His eyebrows furrowed.

“Date? What date?” Anderson asked, also confused by the words on the screen.

Just then, John let out a heavy breath. His eyebrows shot up as his eyes widened. “Oh, come on!” he shouted.

“What? What is it, John?” Molly asked, suddenly very concerned.

John slouched in his seat, elbow on his knee and head propped up on his hand. His forehead rubbed over his palm, as if he was trying to erase a thought from his mind. “Just keep watching,” he said. “This is only our first case, and already… argh! Why does it keep happening?”

The others gave him varying looks of concern – all but Mycroft. Of course, the elder Holmes brother knew exactly what was going on. The clues were so easy for him to read, he knew exactly what was going to happen. Though, he’d watched it all happen before. Keeping tabs on his little brother was something that he’d begun to do before John had even come into the picture.

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	6. 1x1 Part 5 - A Study in Pink

“Well, I guess we’ll just have to listen,” Mycroft said, leaning back in his seat.

“Listen to what?” Anderson asked.

“The person responsible for this. They said to sit back and watch as it unfolds. The breaks in between are just for us to discuss what we have seen, but then we are expected to return to watching,” Lestrade explained.

“Well, then we’d better get a move on!” Mrs. Hudson said. “It’s starting again.” She pointed to the screen.

**Upstairs in the living room of the flat, Sherlock is lying stretched out on the sofa with his head towards the window and resting on a cushion. With his jacket off, and his shirt sleeves unbuttoned and pushed up his arms, he has his eyes closed and he is pressing the palm of his right hand firmly onto the underside of his left arm just below the elbow. After some seconds his eyes snap open wide and he stares fixedly up towards the ceiling, then he sighs out a noisy breath and relaxes. John comes through the door, then stops and stares as Sherlock repeatedly clenches and unclenches his left fist.**

“Is he doing what I think he’s doing?” Molly asked, concern edging in her voice.

**JOHN: What are you doing?**

**SHERLOCK (calmly): Nicotine patch. Helps me think.**

“Well at least he’s not stinking up the place with a cigarette,” Mrs. Hudson sniffs.

**He lifts his right hand to show that he has three round nicotine patches stuck to his arm and it was these which he was pressing against his skin to release the substances more quickly.**

“Wait. Are there _three_ of them?” Anderson asked, nearly jumping out of his seat.

**SHERLOCK: Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days. Bad news for brain work.**

**He loudly clicks the ‘k’ on the last word.**

**JOHN (walking further into the room): It’s good news for breathing.**

“You don’t know Sherlock at all if you think that’s going to matter to him,” Lestrade said with a slight chuckle, though there was an undertone of annoyance in his words.

**SHERLOCK (dismissively): Oh, breathing. Breathing’s boring.**

Nearly everyone was shocked. There were no words to respond to that.

**John frowns as he looks more closely at Sherlock’s arm.**

**JOHN: Is that three patches?**

“The bloody b****** only showed me one!” Lestrade cried in outrage.

**SHERLOCK (pressing his hands together in the prayer position under his chin): It’s a three-patch problem.**

“God. How many do you think he used when facing Moriarty?”

**He closes his eyes. John looks around the room for a moment, then looks down at Sherlock again.**

**JOHN: Well?**

**Sherlock doesn’t respond.**

**JOHN: You asked me to come. I’m assuming it’s important.**

“Now that I know the man better, I know that his priorities are all messed up. This is nothing,” John said.

**Sherlock still doesn’t respond instantly, but after a couple of seconds, his eyes snap open. He doesn’t bother turning his head to look at John.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, yeah, of course. Can I borrow your phone?**

“His phone? All he needed was his phone? Really?” Anderson asked.

Everyone turned to John, questioning looks on their faces. He just shrugged.

**JOHN: My phone?**

**SHERLOCK: Don’t wanna use mine. Always a chance that the number will be recognized. It’s on the website.**

**JOHN: Mrs. Hudson’s got a phone.**

**SHERLOCK: Yeah, she’s downstairs. I tried shouting, but she didn’t hear.**

“Well, he should’ve shouted louder. I would’ve happily let him borrow my phone if it meant that he wasn’t sending poor John around all of London like his dogsbody,” Mrs. Hudson said with a huff.

**JOHN (beginning to get angry): I was the other side of London.**

**SHERLOCK (mildly): There was no hurry.**

**John glares at him as he gazes serenely at the ceiling before closing his eyes again. Eventually, John digs his phone out of his jacket pocket and holds it towards him.**

**JOHN: Here.**

**Without opening his eyes, Sherlock holds out his right hand with the palm up. John glowers at him for a moment, then steps forward and slaps the phone into his hand. Sherlock slowly lifts his arm and puts his hands together again, this time with the phone in between his palms. John turns and walks a few paces away before turning around again.**

“What’s the freak doing?”

No one answered the police sergeant’s question, though they did glower at her for her use of the word ‘freak’ once more. It did nothing.

**JOHN: So, what’s this about – the case?**

**SHERLOCK (softly): Her case.**

“The pink case? He found it?” Anderson asked.

“Of course, he found it, it was at his loft when we searched it, wasn’t it? He must’ve figured out where the murderer stashed it and that’s why he ran off.” Lestrade replied.

“Or he had it the whole time because _he_ was the murderer,” Donovan grumbled. She was still set in her ways despite the hateful looks sent her way.

**JOHN: Her case?**

**SHERLOCK (opening his eyes): Her suitcase, yes, obviously. The murderer took her suitcase. First big mistake.**

**JOHN: Okay, he took her case. So?**

**SHERLOCK (quietly, as if to himself): It’s no use, there’s no other way. We’ll have to risk it.**

**Raising his voice a little, he imperiously holds the phone out towards John, still not looking at him.**

**SHERLOCK: On my desk, there’s a number. I want you to send a text.**

**John half-smiles in angry disbelief.**

**JOHN (tightly): You brought me here ... to send a text.**

“What do you expect, though? It’s Sherlock Holmes,” John said, his eyes downcast and his shoulders sagging a little in his grief.

**SHERLOCK (oblivious to his anger): Text, yes. The number on my desk.**

**He continues to hold the phone out while John glowers at him, possibly wondering if he can get away with justifiable homicide. Eventually, he stomps across the room and snatches the phone from Sherlock’s hand. Sherlock refolds his hands under his chin and closes his eyes but instead of going to the table, John walks over to the window and looks out of it into the street below. Sherlock opens his eyes and tilts his head slightly towards him.**

**SHERLOCK: What’s wrong?**

**JOHN: Just met a friend of yours.**

**Sherlock frowns in confusion.**

**SHERLOCK: A friend?**

“Of course, he’d be confused. Who would want to be friends with a freak?”

**JOHN: An enemy.**

**Sherlock immediately relaxes.**

**SHERLOCK (calmly): Oh. Which one?**

“If this were anyone else, I’d be worried, but by now, I’ve gotten used to Sherlock’s unique quirks,” John stated.

**JOHN: Your arch-enemy, according to him. (He turns towards Sherlock.) Do people have arch-enemies?**

**Sherlock looks towards him, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.**

“I bet he knows exactly who talked to John. You can see it in his eyes,” Lestrade said with a slight chuckle.

“Yes,” Mycroft agreed, “It’s obvious isn’t it?”

**SHERLOCK: Did he offer you money to spy on me?**

**JOHN: Yes.**

“Why else would he take time out of his busy day to bring John to a scary, remote location at night by means of a public telephone and the manipulation of street cameras?” Molly asked sarcastically.

A few chuckles were heard throughout the room in response to her question.

**SHERLOCK: Did you take it?**

**JOHN: No.**

**SHERLOCK: Pity. We could have split the fee. Think it through next time.**

**JOHN: Who is he?**

“No one, just the older brother of a known psychopath. Nope. No one at all,” Donovan grumbled.

“Actually, he’s the older brother of a known _socio_ path. Get it right,” John argued.

**SHERLOCK (softly): The most dangerous man you’ve ever met, and not my problem right now. (More loudly) On my desk, the number.**

**John gives him a dark look, but Sherlock has already looked away again so John walks over to the desk and picks up a piece of paper taken from a luggage label. He looks at the name on the paper.**

**JOHN: Jennifer Wilson. That was ... Hang on. Wasn’t that the dead woman?**

**SHERLOCK: Yes. That’s not important. Just enter the number.**

“Does anyone else miss how Sherlock could make John do anything he wanted, all the while leaving John very confused yet still compliant?” Lestrade asked. There was a hint of nostalgia in his voice as he spoke.

“What do you mean?” John asked.

“It’s all over the screen, mate,” Lestrade replied. “You have not idea what is going on but you’re still doing what Sherlock is asking you to do.”

“Whipped,” Donovan muttered.

**Shaking his head, John gets his phone out and starts to type the number onto it.**

**SHERLOCK: Are you doing it?**

**JOHN: Yes.**

**SHERLOCK: Have you done it?**

**JOHN: Ye... hang on!**

**SHERLOCK: These words exactly: “What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out.”**

**John starts to type but looks briefly across to Sherlock as if concerned at what he just said. Sherlock continues his narration.**

**SHERLOCK: “Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Please come.”**

**John has got as far as:**

*****

**What happened at**

**Lauriston Gdns?**

**I must have b**

*****

**Now he looks across to Sherlock again, frowning.**

**JOHN: You blacked out?**

“Of course not. You’re obviously texting him under the guise of the late Jennifer Wilson. She is the one you want the murderer to think blacked out,” Mycroft pointed out.

“Well, I know that now!” John replied. “By then, I still wasn’t used to whatever Sherlock thought was normal!”

**SHERLOCK: What? No. No!**

**He flips his legs around and stands up, taking the shortest route towards the kitchen – which involves walking over the coffee table beside the sofa rather than around it.**

**SHERLOCK: Type and send it. Quickly.**

**Going into the kitchen, he picks up a small pink suitcase from a chair and brings it back into the living room. Walking over to the dining table, he lifts one of the dining chairs and flips it around, setting it down in front of one of the two armchairs near the fireplace. He puts the suitcase onto the dining chair and sits down in the armchair. John is still typing.**

**SHERLOCK: Have you sent it?**

**JOHN: What’s the address?**

**SHERLOCK (impatiently): Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Hurry up!**

“But he just said there was no rush! Now that he has to actually stand up he’s in a hurry. That’s _just like_ Sherlock.”

**John finishes the message, then looks around as Sherlock unzips the case and flips open the lid, revealing the contents. There are a few items of clothing and underwear – all in varying shades of pink – a washbag, and a paperback novel by Paul Bunch entitled “Come to Bed Eyes”. As John turns towards the case he staggers slightly in shock when he realizes what he’s looking at.**

**JOHN: That’s ... that’s the pink lady’s case. That’s Jennifer Wilson’s case.**

“How did he get it, though?” Anderson asked.

“I’d say he knew where to look,” Lestrade answered.

**SHERLOCK (studying the case closely): Yes, obviously.**

**John continues to stare, and Sherlock looks up at him and then rolls his eyes.**

**SHERLOCK (sarcastically): Oh, perhaps I should mention: I didn’t kill her.**

**JOHN: I never said you did.**

**SHERLOCK: Why not? Given the text I just had you send and the fact that I have her case, it’s a perfectly logical assumption.**

**JOHN: Do people usually assume you’re the murderer?**

“Why not? We have enough reason to,” Donovan muttered.

**SHERLOCK (smirking): Now and then, yes.**

**He puts his hands onto the arms of the armchair and lifts his feet up and under him so that he is perching on the seat with his backside braced against the backrest, then clasps his hands under his chin.**

**JOHN: Okay ...**

**He limps across the room and drops heavily into the armchair on the other side of the fireplace.**

**JOHN: How did you get this?**

**SHERLOCK: By looking.**

**JOHN: Where?**

**SHERLOCK: The killer must have driven her to Lauriston Gardens. He could only keep her case by accident if it was in the car. Nobody could be seen with this case without drawing attention – particularly a man, which is statistically more likely – so obviously he’d feel compelled to get rid of it the moment he noticed he still had it. Wouldn’t have taken him more than five minutes to realize his mistake. I checked every back street wide enough for a car five minutes from Lauriston Gardens ...**

**Cutaway shot of Sherlock standing on the edge of a rooftop looking down into the streets below as he searches for a glimpse of anywhere the case might have been hidden.**

Everyone in the room flinched at the familiarity of the scene. It was just too soon.

**SHERLOCK: ... and anywhere you could dispose of a bulky object without being observed.**

**Cutaway shot of Sherlock back on the ground and rooting through a large skip in an alley before unearthing the case buried under some black plastic, then checking the luggage label attached to the handle.**

“Of course. Now, it’s so obvious that he cabbie was the murderer. He has a car, and it would be unusual for sure for a man – a cabbie especially – to have a bright pink suitcase if he were to pick up anyone else. Why didn’t we see it?” Lestrade asked.

“Because, in the famous words of Sherlock Holmes, ‘you see, but you do not observe’,” John replied.

**SHERLOCK: Took me less than an hour to find the right skip.**

**JOHN: Pink. You got all that because you realized the case would be pink?**

**SHERLOCK: Well, it had to be pink, obviously.**

**JOHN (to himself): Why didn’t I think of that?**

**SHERLOCK: Because you’re an idiot.**

**John looks across to him, startled. Sherlock makes a placatory gesture with one hand.**

**SHERLOCK: No, no, no, don’t look like that. Practically everyone is.**

“Well sorry that we can’t all be freaks like you!” Donovan yelled at the screen.

At this point, no one even glared. She wouldn’t change unless she got proof that turned her whole world on its head.

**He refolds his hands and then extends his index fingers to point at the case.**

**SHERLOCK: Now, look. Do you see what’s missing?**

**JOHN: From the case? How could I?**

**SHERLOCK: Her phone. Where’s her mobile phone? There was no phone on the body, there’s no phone in the case. We know she had one – that’s her number there; you just texted it.**

**JOHN: Maybe she left it at home.**

**Sherlock puts his hands onto the arms of the chair and raises himself up so that he can lower his feet to the floor, then sits down properly on the chair.**

**SHERLOCK: She has a string of lovers and she’s careful about it. She never leaves her phone at home.**

**He puts the slip of paper back into the luggage label on the case and looks at John expectantly.**

**JOHN: Er ...**

**He looks down at his mobile phone which he has put onto the arm of his chair.**

**JOHN: Why did I just send that text?**

**SHERLOCK: Well, the question is: where is her phone now?**

**JOHN: She could have lost it.**

**SHERLOCK: Yes, or ...?**

**JOHN (slowly): The murderer ... You think the murderer has the phone?**

**SHERLOCK: Maybe she left it when she left her case. Maybe he took it from her for some reason. Either way, the balance of probability is the murderer has her phone.**

**JOHN: Sorry, what are we doing? Did I just text a murderer?! What good will that do?**

**As if on cue, his phone begins to ring. He picks it up and looks at the screen for the Caller I.D. It reads:**

*****

**(withheld)**

**calling**

*****

**He looks across to Sherlock as the phone continues to ring.**

“Oh,” Lestrade said, “I get it.”

“What?” Anderson asked, turning to his boss.

“He had John text the murderer with a phone that wouldn’t be recognized so that the murderer would get the message, thinking that the woman he’d just killed was still alive. That would make anyone panic. A perfect way to flush him out,” Lestrade explained.

**SHERLOCK: A few hours after his last victim, and now he receives a text that can only be from her. If somebody had just found that phone they’d ignore a text like that, but the murderer ...**

**He pauses dramatically for a moment until the phone stops ringing.**

**SHERLOCK: ... would panic.**

Lestrade had a proud smile on his face as he realized he’d just figured out what Sherlock had planned. It took him a while, but he got there, showing off how he’d gotten to be a police detective in the first place.

**He flips the lid of the suitcase closed and stands up, walking across the room to pick up his jacket. As John continues to stare down at his phone, Sherlock puts on his jacket and walks towards the door.**

**JOHN (finally looking up): Have you talked to the police?**

**SHERLOCK: Four people are dead. There isn’t time to talk to the police.**

**JOHN: So why are you talking to me?**

**Sherlock reaches behind the door to take his greatcoat from the hook. As he looks across towards John he notices that something is missing from the mantelpiece.**

**SHERLOCK: Mrs. Hudson took my skull.**

**JOHN: So, I’m basically filling in for your skull?**

**SHERLOCK (putting on his coat): Relax, you’re doing fine.**

“It’s funny how Sherlock thinks that John is worried about his acting as a replacement for a skull, instead of being concerned about how he’d gotten in that position in the first place,” Molly pointed out.

**John doesn’t move.**

**SHERLOCK: Well?**

**JOHN: Well what?**

**SHERLOCK: Well, you could just sit there and watch telly.**

**JOHN: What, you want me to come with you?**

**SHERLOCK: I like company when I go out, and I think better when I talk aloud. The skull just attracts attention, so ...**

**John smiles briefly.**

**SHERLOCK: Problem?**

**JOHN: Yeah, Sergeant Donovan.**

**SHERLOCK (looking away in exasperation): What about her?**

**JOHN: She said ... You get off on this. You enjoy it.**

“It kind of looks that way, doesn’t it?” Donovan asked, trying to prove her point.

“At least he’s not like Moriarty. Sherlock enjoys solving the case. Moriarty was the one dropping the bodies,” John replied harshly.

“For the last time, Moriarty never existed!” Donovan yelled.

**SHERLOCK (nonchalantly): And I said “dangerous,” and here you are.**

**Instantly he turns and walks out of the door. John sits there thoughtfully for a few seconds, then almost angrily leans onto his cane to push himself to his feet and head for the door.**

**JOHN: Damn it!**

“Your only answer because you know he’s right,” Lestrade whispered to John.

“Of course, I am. And of course, he’s right!” John replied, whispering furiously. “He’s almost always right.”

*****

**Not long afterwards, John catches up to Sherlock in the street and they continue down the road.**

**JOHN: Where are we going?**

**SHERLOCK: Northumberland Street’s a five-minute walk from here.**

**JOHN: You think he’s stupid enough to go there?**

**SHERLOCK (smiling expectantly): No – I think he’s brilliant enough. I love the brilliant ones. They’re always so desperate to get caught.**

**JOHN: Why?**

**SHERLOCK: Appreciation! Applause! At long last the spotlight. That’s the frailty of genius, John: it needs an audience.**

“Obviously, he’s speaking from experience,” Anderson said, though his tone was light-hearted rather than scornful.

**JOHN (looking pointedly at him): Yeah.**

**Oblivious to the implication, Sherlock spins around to indicate the entire area as he continues down the road.**

**SHERLOCK: This is his hunting ground, right here in the heart of the city. Now that we know his victims were abducted, that changes everything. Because all of his victims disappeared from busy streets, crowded places, but nobody saw them go.**

**He holds his hands up on either side of his head as if to focus his thoughts.**

**SHERLOCK: Think! Who do we trust, even though we don’t know them? Who passes unnoticed wherever they go? Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?**

“All he’s missing if one final clue,” Lestrade said. “I have to say, I’m enjoying being the one who knows the answers for once and looking back to watch how Sherlock actually figures things out on his cases.”

“I guess that’s why we’re here. To learn that Sherlock isn’t a fraud? He figures things out just like everyone else, just faster?” John replied.

**JOHN: Dunno. Who?**

**SHERLOCK (shrugging): Haven’t the faintest. Hungry?**

**Lowering his hands, he leads John onwards and into a small restaurant. The waiter near the door clearly knows him and gestures to a reserved table at the front window.**

“Oh! That is why the mysterious person said enjoy your date! Because almost _everyone_ thinks that you two are dating!”

“ _Exactly!_ ” John shouted back, “But we _aren’t_!”

**SHERLOCK: Thank you, Billy.**

**Taking his coat off, he sits down on the bench seat at the side of the table and immediately turns sideways so that he can see clearly out of the window. As Billy takes the ‘Reserved’ sign off the table, John sits down on the other bench seat with his back to the window and takes off his jacket.**

“If that table was reserved, did Sherlock _plan_ to take you out to dinner?” Anderson asked, turning away from the screen to stare at John.

John shrugged. “He probably just planned to go to that restaurant as a cover to watch the address that he sent to the murderer,” he replied.

**SHERLOCK (nodding to a building over the road): Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Keep your eyes on it.**

**JOHN: He isn’t just gonna ring the doorbell, though, is he? He’d need to be mad.**

**SHERLOCK: He has killed four people.**

“He does have a good point,” Molly said.

**JOHN: ... Okay.**

**The owner of the restaurant comes over, clearly pleased to see Sherlock.**

**ANGELO: Sherlock.**

**They shake hands.**

**ANGELO: Anything on the menu, whatever you want, free.**

“Huh? Why does the freak get free food at this place?” Donovan asked. Her eyebrow was raised questioningly.

**He lays a couple of menus on the table.**

**ANGELO: On the house, for you and for your date.**

“Has anyone kept count on how many people have thought that Sherlock and John are dating? Because I think it’s almost everyone that they’ve met so far except for Mike and Molly,” Lestrade said.

**SHERLOCK (to John): Do you want to eat?**

**JOHN (to Angelo): I’m not his date.**

**ANGELO: This man got me off a murder charge.**

**SHERLOCK: This is Angelo.**

**Angelo offers his hand to John, who shakes it.**

**SHERLOCK: Three years ago I successfully proved to Lestrade at the time of a particularly vicious triple murder that Angelo was in a completely different part of town, house-breaking.**

**ANGELO (to John): He cleared my name.**

“Technically he just cleared Angelo’s name for a crime, using a lesser crime as an alibi,” Lestrade pointed out.

**SHERLOCK: I cleared it a bit. Anything happening opposite?**

**ANGELO: Nothing. (He looks at John again.) But for this man, I’d have gone to prison.**

**SHERLOCK: You did go to prison.**

**ANGELO (to John): I’ll get a candle for the table. It’s more romantic.**

**JOHN (indignantly, as Angelo walks away): I’m not his date!**

“Why is everyone so adamant that Sherlock and I were together? We weren’t! I was just a guy that helped him pay rent and that he dragged along on his adventures!”

“You’re still in denial, John, but it’s understandable, so soon after Sherlock…fell.”

**Sherlock puts his own menu down onto the table.**

**SHERLOCK: You may as well eat. We might have a long wait.**

**Angelo comes back with a small glass bowl containing a lit tea-light. He puts it onto the table and gives John a thumbs-up before turning and walking away again.**

**JOHN (a little tetchily): Thanks!**

*****

**Later, John has a plate of food in front of him and is eating from it. Sherlock’s attention is fixed out of the window and he is quietly drumming his fingers on the table.**

**JOHN: People don’t have arch-enemies.**

**It takes a moment but Sherlock finally looks round.**

**SHERLOCK: I’m sorry?**

**JOHN: In real life. There are no arch-enemies in real life. Doesn’t happen.**

**SHERLOCK (disinterestedly, looking out of the window again): Doesn’t it? Sounds a bit dull.**

At the words that were just so _Sherlock_ , everyone watching took in sharp intakes of breath.

**JOHN: So, who did I meet?**

**SHERLOCK: What do real people have, then, in their ‘real lives’?**

**JOHN: Friends; people they know; people they like; people they don’t like ... Girlfriends, boyfriends ...**

“Oh, God,” John groaned, knowing what was coming next.

**SHERLOCK: Yes, well, as I was saying – dull.**

**JOHN: You don’t have a girlfriend, then?**

**SHERLOCK (still looking out of the window): Girlfriend? No, not really my area.**

“Of course, not, but when he says it like that, it almost implies something else,” Anderson pointed out.

**JOHN: Mm.**

**A moment passes before he realizes the possible significance of this statement.**

**JOHN: Oh, right. D’you have a boyfriend?**

“See?” Anderson asked, pointing to the screen, “John gets it!”

“Unfortunately, Sherlock thinks he’s asking something else,” Molly said with a small smile as she hid her mouth behind her hand, struggling to hold in a laugh at the boys’ predicament.

**Sherlock looks round at him sharply.**

**JOHN: Which is fine, by the way.**

**SHERLOCK: I know it’s fine.**

**John smiles to indicate that he wasn’t signifying anything negative by what he said.**

**JOHN: So, you’ve got a boyfriend then?**

**SHERLOCK: No.**

**JOHN (still smiling, though his smile is becoming a little fixed and awkward): Right. Okay. You’re unattached. Like me. (He looks down at his plate, apparently rapidly running out of things to say.) Fine. (He clears his throat.) Good.**

**He continues eating. Sherlock looks at him suspiciously for a moment but then turns his attention out of the window again. However, he then appears to replay John’s statement in his head and looks a little startled. Turning his head towards John again, he starts speaking rather awkwardly but rapidly speeds up and is almost babbling by the time John interrupts him.**

**SHERLOCK: John, um ... I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I’m flattered by your interest, I’m really not looking for any ...**

“Good going, John, now even the _freak_ thinks you’re coming onto him!” Donovan said.

**JOHN (interrupting): No. (He turns his head briefly to clear his throat.) No, I’m not asking. No.**

**He fixes his gaze onto Sherlock’s, apparently trying to convey his sincerity.**

**JOHN: I’m just saying, it’s all fine.**

**Sherlock looks at him for a moment, then nods.**

**SHERLOCK: Good. Thank you.**

“That was an awkward conversation if I ever saw any,” Lestrade said with a chuckle. “Goes to show you that Sherlock is capable of having normal human interaction, the good and the bad.”

**He turns his attention back to the street. John looks away with a bemused expression on his face as if asking himself, ‘What the heck was all that about?!’ Just then, Sherlock nods out of the window.**

**SHERLOCK: Look across the street. Taxi.**

**John twists in his seat to look out of the window where a taxi has parked at the side of the road with its back end towards the restaurant.**

**SHERLOCK: Stopped. Nobody getting in, and nobody getting out.**

**In the rear seat of the taxi, the male passenger is looking through the side windows as if trying to see somebody.**

**SHERLOCK (to himself): Why a taxi? Oh, that’s clever. Is it clever? Why is it clever?**

**JOHN: That’s him?**

**SHERLOCK: Don’t stare.**

**JOHN (looking round at him): You’re staring.**

**SHERLOCK: We can’t both stare.**

**Getting to his feet, he grabs his coat and scarf and heads for the door. John picks up his own jacket and follows ... completely forgetting to take his walking cane with him.**

“What?” Anderson cried out.

“Is that when you realized how to get rid of the psychosomatic limp?” Lestrade asked.

John shrugged. “Sort of, yeah. Sherlock seemed to have had the whole thing planned. He never really waited for me whenever I did walk, so it seems that he cured me more than that therapist ever did.”

“I told you she was rotten at her job,” Mycroft pointed out softly.

Looking back to the screen, the group noticed that it had abruptly turned off once again. More words glowed on the black background, _‘I hope you enjoyed your date, John.’_

“For heaven’s sake, it wasn’t a date!”

“Sure, it wasn’t, John,” Lestrade said sarcastically, though in a teasing manner, “It was just two men going out for dinner, with romantic lighting, talking about boyfriends, and then they both run out of the restaurant to chase a murderer. How _isn’t_ that a date?”

John gave him a sideways look. “I see that we’ll have to give you a refresher about what a date is _supposed_ to look like.”

Lestrade gave him the same look right back, “It seems we’ll have to give _you_ a refresher on what it’s like to hang out with Sherlock. For him, that _was_ practically a date. Too bad you didn’t catch the guy.”

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	7. 1x1 Part 6 - A Study in Pink

“Yeah,” John said, “It is too bad that we didn’t catch the cabbie right away, but, at least something else comes from it.”

“Really?” Molly asked, “And what was that?” She seemed generally interested in what could’ve come from chasing a cabbie all around London and not even catching their murderer. It was quite impractical, in her opinion.

**Outside the door, Sherlock shrugs himself into his coat while keeping his eyes fixed on the taxi. The passenger continues to look around him, then turns and looks out the back window. His gaze falls on the restaurant and he looks at it for a few moments while Sherlock stares back at him, then the man turns towards the front of the vehicle and the taxi begins to pull away from the curb. Sherlock immediately heads towards it without bothering to check the road that he’s running into and is almost run over by a car coming from his left. The driver slams on the brakes and stops the car but Sherlock, always keen to take the quickest route, allows his forward impetus to carry him onto the top of the bonnet. He rolls over the bonnet, lands on his feet on the other side and then runs after the taxi. As the driver of the car angrily sounds his horn, John puts one hand on the bonnet and vaults over the front of the car, apologizing to the driver as he goes.**

**JOHN: Sorry.**

“Oh, John, apologizing to those idiots as you chase a murderer,” Mrs. Hudson muttered.

**He chases after Sherlock, who runs a few yards up the road before realizing that he’s not going to catch the taxi and slows to a halt. John catches up and stops beside him.**

**JOHN: I’ve got the cab number.**

**SHERLOCK: Good for you.**

“Give him a break, Sherlock; he’s just trying to be helpful,” Lestrade grumbled under his breath, eyes fixated on the screen as he saw the late detective and his partner in stopping crime run through the streets of London.

**He brings his hands up to either side of his head and concentrates, calling up a mental map of the local area and overlaying it with images of the streets along the route which he calculates that the taxi must take.**

“The freak can do that, too?” Donovan asked, her eyes wide.

“His memory is unlike anything I’ve ever seen, I think that’s how he can memorize the routes of London like that,” John explained, not even bothering to correct Donovan’s vulgar description of his friend for the umpteenth time.

**SHERLOCK (quick fire): Right turn, one way, roadworks, traffic lights, bus lane, pedestrian crossing, left turn only, traffic lights.**

**Having worked out the route, he lifts his head and sees a man unlocking the door to a nearby building. Instantly his mind flashes up a signpost saying, “ALTERNATIVE ROUTE.” Sherlock races towards the man and grabs him, shoving him out of the way before charging into the building.**

**MAN: Oi!**

**John hurries after Sherlock, raising an apologetic hand to the man as he goes.**

**JOHN: Sorry.**

“Oh, John, still apologizing,” Mrs. Hudson said.

**The two of them race up the stairs and out onto a metal spiral fire escape staircase leading to the roof. Sherlock takes the steps two or even three at a time and John struggles to keep up with him as he scurries up behind him.**

“Does anyone else love how cute John’s run is compared to Sherlock’s lanky strides?” Lestrade asked as he let out a laugh.

A few chuckles arose from the audience, though John grumbled and crossed his arms.

**SHERLOCK: Come on, John.**

**Reaching the top of the stairs, Sherlock runs to the edge and looks over before seeing a shorter metal spiral staircase leading down the side of the building to another door one floor lower. He gallops down the stairs and climbs onto the railing before leaping across the gap to the next building. John scrambles onto the railing and follows. Sherlock runs across to the other side of the roof and again leaps across to the next building. John races after him, but then skids to a halt when he realizes that the gap may be too big for him to jump across. As if in sympathy, pedestrian traffic lights on the ground change from the green “It is safe to cross” sign to the red “Stop and wait” sign. John hesitates, looking down at the drop beneath him.**

**SHERLOCK: Come on, John. We’re losing him!**

**John backs up a few paces and braces himself. As the traffic lights change to “Safe to cross” again, he takes a run-up and leaps the gap. Dropping down onto a walkway along the side of the building, the boys run onwards. The taxi continues its journey on the ground and the boys gallop down another metal staircase, then run to a ledge and drop down into an alleyway before running onwards again. Sherlock leads John down the alleyway as, in his head, a map shows their location in comparison to where the taxi must be. Their paths are beginning to get closer and they are heading towards a point where Sherlock and John will exit the alleyway onto D’Arblay Street, into which the taxi is just turning. Sherlock turns the corner and races down the last part of the alley, only to see the taxi drive past the end, heading to the left.**

“Well, that had some significance to it. If you hurry, you can still make catch him, John,” Molly observed.

**SHERLOCK (angrily): Ah, no!**

**Without breaking stride, he races out of the end of the alley and turns right.**

**SHERLOCK: This way.**

**Instinctively John turns left in pursuit of the taxi.**

**SHERLOCK: No, this way!**

**JOHN: Sorry.**

**He turns and heads back in the opposite direction, following Sherlock. In Sherlock’s mind-map, he picks a new point where he and John can intercept the cab. The boys run down the street, taking a shorter route than the taxi which is being diverted by various road signs taking it the long way around. They head down more alleyways and side streets towards the interception point in Wardour Street and finally, at the precise point which his mental map predicted, Sherlock races out of a side street and hurls himself into the path of the approaching cab, which screeches to a halt as he crashes hard into the bonnet. Scrabbling in his left coat pocket, Sherlock pulls out an I.D. badge and flashes it at the driver as he runs to the right-hand side of the cab.**

“Wait,” Donovan said, “Where did the freak get an I.D. badge? He doesn’t even work for the force!”

She and Anderson turned to Lestrade, who shrugged. Then, the three Yarders turned to John, who said, “It’ll be explained in the video. I asked Sherlock the same things shortly after the cab dove away.”

**SHERLOCK: Police! Open her up!**

**Panting heavily, he tugs open the rear door and stares in at the passenger, who looks back at him anxiously. Instantly Sherlock straightens up in exasperation just as John joins him.**

**SHERLOCK: No.**

“Huh? What’s he doing?” Anderson asked.

**He leans down again to look at the passenger a second time.**

“He’s doing the weird thing again, isn’t he?” Donovan spoke up, raising an eyebrow at the screen. “the thing where he sees helpful words floating in the air?”

“You mean when he is observing something or someone and his brain figures out almost everything about them?” John replied in question-form.

Donovan scowled.

**SHERLOCK: Teeth, tan: what – Californian?**

**He looks at something on the floor in front of the passenger.**

**SHERLOCK: L.A., Santa Monica. Just arrived.**

**He straightens up again, grimacing.**

**JOHN: How can you possibly know that?**

**SHERLOCK: The luggage.**

**He looks down at the suitcase on the floor of the cab and its luggage label showing that the man has flown from LAX [Los Angeles International Airport] to LHR [London Heathrow Airport].**

**SHERLOCK (to the passenger): It’s probably your first trip to London, right, going by your final destination and the route the cabbie was taking you?**

“If I was that man, I’d be a lot more perturbed by a policeman chasing after my cabbie like that,” Molly commented.

“I dunno,” John said, “He seemed perturbed enough for me.”

**PASSENGER: Sorry – are you guys the police?**

**SHERLOCK: Yeah. (He flashes the I.D. badge briefly at the man.) Everything all right?**

**PASSENGER (smiling): Yeah.**

“He’s going to leave there thinking poorly of London’s policemen for the rest of his life. Good going, Sherlock,” Lestrade grumbled.

**Sherlock pauses for a moment as if wondering how to finish this conversation, then smiles falsely at the man.**

**SHERLOCK: Welcome to London.**

**He immediately walks away, leaving John staring blankly for a moment before he steps closer to the taxi door and looks in at the passenger.**

**JOHN: Er, any problems, just let us know.**

**As the man nods, John smiles politely and slams the cab door shut. The man looks round to the taxi driver in bewilderment. John walks to where Sherlock has stopped a few yards behind the vehicle.**

**JOHN: Basically, just a cab that happened to slow down.**

**SHERLOCK: Basically.**

**JOHN: Not the murderer.**

“Actually, it was the murderer, boys, but you didn’t look hard enough,” Mrs. Hudson said disapprovingly.

John shrugged. “We didn’t know that at the time. Like Sherlock told me after it happened, ‘everyone overlooks the cabbie’.”

“I bet he never overlooked anyone like that ever again,” Lestrade remarked.

“You’d have that right.”

**SHERLOCK (exasperated): Not the murderer, no.**

**JOHN: Wrong country, good alibi.**

**SHERLOCK: As they go.**

**John notices as Sherlock switches the I.D. card from one hand to another.**

**JOHN: Hey, where-where did you get this? Here.**

**He reaches for the card and Sherlock releases it.**

**JOHN: Right. (He looks at the name on the card.) Detective Inspector Lestrade?**

**SHERLOCK: Yeah. I pickpocket him when he’s annoying. You can keep that one, I’ve got plenty at the flat.**

“So that’s where my cards keep going! I thought I was just forgetful!” Lestrade cried out suddenly. “I should’ve known!”

The two other Yarders just stare at their boss with incredulity in their eyes. How could he _not_ have thought of that? If it were either of them, Sherlock Holmes would’ve been the first person on the suspect list.

**John nods then looks down at the card again before lifting his head and giggling silently.**

The present John also laughed, hiding it very poorly beneath his hands.

“You think that’s funny, do you?” Lestrade asked, eyeing John out of the corner of his eye.

“A little, yeah. It reminds me of Sherlock’s antics.”

**SHERLOCK: What?**

**JOHN: Nothing, just: “Welcome to London.”**

**Sherlock chuckles then looks down the road to where a police officer has apparently gone to investigate why the cab has stopped in the middle of the road. The passenger has got out and is pointing down the road towards the boys.**

“You got the freak to _laugh_?” Donovan shouted. “How is that even possible?”

“You mean he doesn’t laugh normally? He does all the time with me and Mrs. Hudson. That was just the first of many,” John replied, though his tone was slightly sarcastic during his first sentence.

**SHERLOCK (to John): Got your breath back?**

**JOHN: Ready when you are.**

**They turn and run off down the road.**

*****

**221B. The boys have arrived back and walk along the hallway, breathing heavily. John hangs his jacket on a hook on the wall while Sherlock drapes his coat over the bottom of the bannisters.**

“I assume this is when you came back, and we were inside?” Lestrade asked.

John nodded.

**JOHN: Okay, that was ridiculous.**

**They lean side by side against the wall, still trying to catch their breath.**

**JOHN: That was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done.**

**SHERLOCK: And you invaded Afghanistan.**

**John giggles and after a moment Sherlock also begins to laugh.**

“I’m impressed, Watson. You got my brother to laugh twice in a…what? Twenty-minute span? I knew I picked the right person the moment I saw you, and this video footage is just adding more and more proof to that,” Mycroft said.

“How do we even know any of this even happened? I mean, how could this mysterious person have all this footage in the first place?” Donovan asked, eyeing the screen suspiciously. On it, John and Sherlock were still laughing.

**JOHN: That wasn’t just me.**

**Sherlock chuckles.**

“Well, seeing as one of us six is always in the shot throughout, we can testify that it’s true. The extra stuff, like Sherlock’s imaginary words, well, I think we can safely assume that it’s just there to help us understand more of what is going on. I mean, the whole point of this is to prove Sherlock innocent of creating that villain Moriarty, right?” John inquired, turning to the three Yarders in question, as they were the ones he was sure needed the convincing. Though…he, Molly, Mycroft, and Mrs. Hudson all knew that Sherlock was innocent, so why were they all there, too, if that was the point?

As if reading his thoughts, Mycroft said, “John, I believe that whomever our captor is, there is a lot more than just proving my brother’s innocence that they want us to learn. I speak for myself when I say I know how my brother thinks, but for the rest of you, I cannot say the same. Maybe this person thinks that should be changed.”

“But why us, though? I mean, the seven of us were chosen for a reason, so what could that be?”

Mycroft’s face held a smile that John had seen many times before. “I don’t know, but I’ll let you know when I’ve figured it out.”

John wasn’t buying it; the tone that Mycroft used was a familiar one. It was one that he used when he knew something that no one else did, and as often as that was, this time, John knew that it was about exactly what they were talking about.

**JOHN: Why aren’t we back at the restaurant?**

**SHERLOCK (becoming more serious and waving his hand dismissively): Oh, they can keep an eye out. It was a long shot anyway.**

**JOHN: So, what were we doing there?**

“Sherlock was taking you out on a date, obviously,” Molly grumbled. Not according to her, of course – because she’d never allow herself to think of Sherlock with another person – but at least, that was what almost everyone else in the room was thinking, including the mystery person who brought them here.

**Sherlock clears his throat.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, just passing the time.**

**He looks at John.**

**SHERLOCK: And proving a point.**

“What point?” Lestrade asked.

**JOHN: What point?**

“Ha!” Anderson said in a burst of laughter, clearly amused by the coincidence that had just happened. Mycroft smiled thinly; what a simple man. No wonder his brother often spoke poorly of him.

**SHERLOCK: You.**

**He turns and calls loudly towards the door to Mrs. Hudson’s ground floor flat.**

**SHERLOCK: Mrs. Hudson! Doctor Watson will take the room upstairs.**

**JOHN: Says who?**

**SHERLOCK (looking towards the front door): Says the man at the door.**

“Seriously? How does he do that?” Donovan asked.

“Hopefully by the end of this, we’ll understand. I mean, it’s only our first case together,” John replied.

“Does anyone else realize how much Sherlock has to assume for his theories to work? He has a lot of evidence, for sure, and a lot of knowledge about things that help him put those clues together, but just like how he knew John had a sibling, but not a sister, he assumed that ‘Harry’ was his brother based on the name and not just a woman with a wife and a nickname that could also be a man’s name,” Molly pointed out.

“I guess that’s true…” John said slowly, his voice trailing off towards the end.

**John turns his head towards the door just as someone knocks on it three times. He turns back to look at Sherlock in surprise. Sherlock smiles. John stares at him for a moment, then walks along the hall to answer the door. Sherlock leans his head against the wall and blows out a breath. John opens the door and finds Angelo standing outside.**

**ANGELO: Sherlock texted me.**

**Smiling, he holds up John’s walking cane.**

“Oh, right! John just ran halfway across London without his cane because he was following Sherlock!” Anderson bellowed loudly.

“And he was proving his point that John’s limp was psychosomatic because, when he wasn’t thinking about it, it wasn’t there,” Lestrade finished.

**ANGELO: He said you forgot this.**

**John stares at the cane in surprise, then takes it.**

**JOHN: Ah.**

**He turns and looks down the hall to Sherlock, who grins at him.**

**JOHN (turning back to Angelo): Er, thank you. Thank you.**

**As he comes back in and closes the door, Mrs. Hudson comes out of her flat and hurries over to the boys. She sounds upset and tearful as she speaks.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Sherlock, what have you done?**

**SHERLOCK: Mrs. Hudson?**

**MRS. HUDSON: Upstairs.**

**Sherlock turns and hurries up the stairs, John following him. Sherlock opens the living room door and goes inside, where he finds D.I. Lestrade sitting casually in the armchair facing the door. Other police officers are going through Sherlock’s possessions. Sherlock storms over to Lestrade.**

**SHERLOCK: What are you doing?**

**LESTRADE: Well, I knew you’d find the case. I’m not stupid.**

**SHERLOCK: You can’t just break into my flat.**

**LESTRADE: And you can’t withhold evidence. And I didn’t break into your flat.**

**SHERLOCK: Well, what do you call this then?**

**LESTRADE (looking round at his officers before looking back to Sherlock innocently): It’s a Drugs Bust.**

**JOHN: Seriously?! This guy, a junkie?! Have you met him?!**

“Oh, sweet, innocent John. What else could he be? With a brain like that, he’d get bored so easily. The cases just help him, but the rest of the time, he turns to drugs for an escape from the world,” Lestrade said sadly.

“I know that now, but back then, I thought the cases would be enough, especially after what Donovan said to me about him ‘getting off’ on the crimes,” John replied. “Just be lucky that he doesn’t turn to murder, like _some_ people,” he said, hinting heavily towards one person who was _not_ with them in the theatre room.

**Sherlock turns and walks closer to John, biting his lip nervously.**

**SHERLOCK: John ...**

**JOHN (to Lestrade): I’m pretty sure you could search this flat all day, you wouldn’t find anything you could call recreational.**

**SHERLOCK: John, you probably want to shut up now.**

**JOHN: Yeah, but come on ...**

**He looks into Sherlock’s eyes. Sherlock holds his gaze for a long moment and John instantly realizes what the taller man was trying to say.**

**JOHN: No.**

**SHERLOCK: What?**

**JOHN: You?**

**SHERLOCK (angrily): Shut up!**

**He turns back to Lestrade.**

**SHERLOCK: I’m not your sniffer dog.**

“Technically, he is. He does _sniff_ the bodies after all, and then he runs off and finds the murderer. Isn’t that what a sniffer dog does?” Donovan questioned sarcastically.

**LESTRADE: No, Anderson’s my sniffer dog.**

**He nods towards the kitchen.**

**SHERLOCK: What, An...**

**The closed doors to the kitchen slide open and reveal several more officers in there searching through the room. Anderson turns towards the living room and raises his hand in a sarcastic greeting.**

**SHERLOCK (angrily): Anderson, what are you doing here on a Drugs Bust?**

“That’s true. A Drugs Bust would be below your paygrade, usually,” Molly said.

**ANDERSON (venomously): Oh, I volunteered.**

**Sherlock turns away, biting his lip angrily.**

**LESTRADE: They all did. They’re not strictly speaking on the drugs squad, but they’re very keen.**

**Donovan comes into view from the kitchen, holding a small glass jar with some white round objects in it.**

**DONOVAN: Are these human eyes?**

Mrs. Hudson sighed, shaking her head. It wasn’t even surprising at this point.

**SHERLOCK: Put those back!**

**DONOVAN: They were in the microwave!**

Molly seemed terrified for a moment, though she wasn’t surprised either. Did Sherlock do that with all the specimens she sent to him?

**SHERLOCK: It’s an experiment.**

**LESTRADE: Keep looking, guys.**

**He stands up and turns to Sherlock.**

**LESTRADE: Or you could help us properly and I’ll stand them down.**

**SHERLOCK (pacing angrily): This is childish.**

**LESTRADE: Well, I’m dealing with a child. Sherlock, this is our case. I’m letting you in, but you do not go off on your own. Clear?**

“Touché,” John said, “Sherlock is basically a huge child in an adult body when you think about it. A clever child, but still a child.”

**SHERLOCK (stopping and glaring at him): Oh, what, so-so-so you set up a pretend Drugs Bust to bully me?**

**LESTRADE: It stops being pretend if they find anything.**

**SHERLOCK (loudly): I am clean!**

“If he’s clean, why is he getting so worked up? He knows what Lestrade has to do for his job, so what’s the problem?” Donovan asked.

**LESTRADE: Is your flat? All of it?**

**SHERLOCK: I don’t even smoke.**

**He unbuttons the cuff of his left shirt and pulls it up to show a nicotine patch on his lower arm.**

**LESTRADE: Neither do I.**

**He pulls up the right sleeves of his own jacket and shirt to show a similar patch on his arm. Sherlock rolls his eyes and turns away and they both pull their sleeves back down again.**

**LESTRADE: So, let’s work together. We’ve found Rachel.**

**SHERLOCK (turning back to him): Who is she?**

**LESTRADE: Jennifer Wilson’s only daughter.**

**SHERLOCK (frowning): Her daughter? Why would she write her daughter’s name? Why?**

**ANDERSON: Never mind that. We found the case.**

**(He points to the pink suitcase in the living room.**

**ANDERSON: According to someone, the murderer has the case, and we found it in the hands of our favourite psychopath.**

“Correction, it _was_ with the murderer, until said _sociopath_ found it and brought it back to his flat as evidence to help him solve the murder, as was _your_ job,” John said venomously.

**SHERLOCK (looking at him disparagingly): I’m not a psychopath, Anderson. I’m a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research.**

**He turns back to Lestrade.**

**SHERLOCK: You need to bring Rachel in. You need to question her. I need to question her.**

**LESTRADE: She’s dead.**

**SHERLOCK: Excellent!**

**John looks startled.**

“Obviously. Who is thrilled to hear that someone is dead?” Donovan grumbled.

**SHERLOCK (to Lestrade): How, when and why? Is there a connection? There has to be.**

**LESTRADE: Well, I doubt it, since she’s been dead for fourteen years. Technically she was never alive. Rachel was Jennifer Wilson’s stillborn daughter, fourteen years ago.**

**(John grimaces sadly and turns away. Sherlock, on the other hand, just looks confused.)**

**SHERLOCK: No, that’s ... that’s not right. How ... Why would she do that? Why?**

**ANDERSON: Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments? Yup – sociopath; I’m seeing it now.**

**SHERLOCK (turning to him with an exasperated look on his face): She didn’t think about her daughter. She scratched her name on the floor with her fingernails. She was dying. It took effort. It would have hurt.**

**He begins to pace back and forth across the room again.**

**JOHN: You said that the victims all took the poison themselves, that he makes them take it. Well, maybe he ... I don’t know, talks to them? Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow.**

**SHERLOCK (stopping and turning to him): Yeah, but that was ages ago. Why would she still be upset?**

“He did warn you that he was a sociopath. How can you now be confused as to the fact that he doesn’t understand feelings the way you do?” Molly asked, raising as an eyebrow at the three Yarders in the room.

**John stares at him. Sherlock hesitates as he realizes that everyone in the flat has stopped what they’re doing and has fallen silent. He glances around the room and then looks awkwardly at John.**

**SHERLOCK: Not good?**

“Isn’t it sweet that Sherlock asks John? He seems so worried,” Mrs. Hudson gushed. “See, this is what I’m talking about: true love.”

“I don’t know what Mrs. Hudson is saying, but she’s right about one thing: I’m surprised that Sherlock was able to read the mood of the room enough to realize that what he said was wrong on some level,” Lestrade commented.

**JOHN (also glancing around at the others before turning back to Sherlock): Bit not good, yeah.**

**Sherlock shakes it off and steps closer to John, looking at him intently.**

**SHERLOCK: Yeah, but if you were dying ... if you’d been murdered: in your very last few seconds what would you say?**

**JOHN: “Please, God, let me live.”**

**SHERLOCK (exasperated): Oh, use your imagination!**

**JOHN: I don’t have to.**

**Sherlock seems to recognize the look of pain in John’s face. He pauses momentarily and blinks a couple of times, shifting his feet apologetically before continuing.**

“Oh, I get it now!” Anderson said. “At the moment, I didn’t know what you meant by that, but you really did, didn’t you? As a soldier and everything?”

John remained silent, but the expression on his face gave the forensic scientist his answer.

**SHERLOCK: Yeah, but if you were clever, really clever ... Jennifer Wilson running all those lovers: she was clever.**

**He starts to pace again.**

**SHERLOCK: She’s trying to tell us something.**

**Mrs. Hudson comes to the door of the living room.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Isn’t the doorbell working? Your taxi’s here, Sherlock.**

Every eye in the room widened as they remembered what had happened next. Why hadn’t they seen it earlier?

**SHERLOCK: I didn’t order a taxi. Go away.**

**He continues pacing as Mrs. Hudson looks around the room.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Oh, dear. They’re making such a mess. What are they looking for?**

**JOHN: It’s a Drugs Bust, Mrs. Hudson.**

**MRS. HUDSON (anxiously): But they’re just for my hip. They’re herbal soothers.**

**With his back to the door, Sherlock stops and shouts out.**

**SHERLOCK: Shut up, everybody, shut up! Don’t move, don’t speak, don’t breathe. I’m trying to think. Anderson, face the other way. You’re putting me off.**

**ANDERSON: What? My face is?!**

**LESTRADE: Everybody quiet and still. Anderson, turn your back.**

“I bet he just loved that,” Molly muttered to Mrs. Hudson.

**ANDERSON: Oh, for God’s sake!**

**LESTRADE (sternly): Your back, now, please!**

**SHERLOCK (to himself): Come on, think. Quick!**

**MRS. HUDSON: What about your taxi?**

**SHERLOCK (turning to her and shouting furiously): MRS. HUDSON!**

**She turns and hurries away down the stairs. Sherlock stops and looks around as he finally realizes something.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh.**

“Does anyone else still find it unsettling when he does – did – that?” John asked.

**He smiles in delight.**

**SHERLOCK: Ah! She was clever, clever, yes!**

**He walks across the room and then turns back to the others.**

**SHERLOCK: She’s cleverer than you lot and she’s dead. Do you see, do you get it? She didn’t lose her phone, she never lost it. She planted it on him.**

**He starts pacing again.**

**SHERLOCK: When she got out of the car, she knew that she was going to her death. She left the phone in order to lead us to her killer.**

**LESTRADE: But how?**

**SHERLOCK (stopping and staring at him): Wha...? What do you mean, how?**

“When I say ‘how’, I mean ‘how’. He thinks that just because he’s figured it out that everyone else can just follow along,” the Inspector said.

“Well, we’re following along now, but this time, we’re the ones that are one step ahead,” Anderson remarked.

“It’s just because we know how it ends. It’s not as interesting that way, but I admit that finding out every detail to it in time with Sherlock is intriguing to say the least,” Molly piped up.

There were a few nods of agreement to her statement from the soldier, the Inspector, the landlady, and the scientist.

**Lestrade shrugs.**

**SHERLOCK: Rachel!**

“When he does that, I can really believe that he’s a raving lunatic, but it’s just him not understanding how we can’t piece things together like him,” Lestrade said.

**He looks at everyone triumphantly. They all look back at him blankly.**

**SHERLOCK: Don’t you see? Rachel!**

**Still, everyone looks blank. Sherlock laughs in disbelief.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, look at you lot. You’re all so vacant. Is it nice not being me? It must be so relaxing. (More sternly) Rachel is not a name.**

**JOHN (equally sternly): Then what is it?**

**SHERLOCK: John, on the luggage, there’s a label. E-mail address.**

**John looks at the label on the suitcase and reads out the address.**

**JOHN: Er, jennie.pink@mephone.org.uk.**

**Sherlock has sat down at the dining table and is looking at his computer notebook.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, I’ve been too slow. She didn’t have a laptop, which means she did her business on her phone, so it’s a smartphone, it’s e-mail enabled.**

**He has pulled up Mephone’s website and types the email address into the ‘User name’ box.**

**SHERLOCK: So, there was a website for her account. The username is her e-mail address ...**

**He begins to type into the ‘Password’ box.**

**SHERLOCK: ... and all together now, the password is?**

**JOHN (walking over to stand behind him): Rachel.**

**ANDERSON: So, we can read her e-mails. So, what?**

**SHERLOCK: Anderson, don’t talk out loud. You lower the I.Q. of the whole street. We can do much more than just read her e-mails. It’s a smartphone, it’s got GPS, which means if you lose it you can locate it online. She’s leading us directly to the man who killed her.**

**LESTRADE: Unless he got rid of it.**

**JOHN: We know he didn’t.**

**Sherlock looks at the screen impatiently.**

**SHERLOCK: Come on, come on. Quickly!**

“Too bad technology doesn’t work as fast as his brain,” Anderson grumbled.

**Mrs. Hudson trots up the stairs and comes to the door again.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Sherlock, dear. This taxi driver ...**

“Now I’m feeling antsy,” John said, gripping at his receding hair. “How come we didn’t just notice it! All the clues were there!”

**Sherlock gets to his feet and walks over towards her.**

**SHERLOCK: Mrs. Hudson, isn’t it time for your evening soother?**

**John sits down on the chair which Sherlock vacated and watches a clock spinning round on the website as it claims that the phone will be located in under three minutes. Sherlock turns to Lestrade.**

**SHERLOCK: We need to get vehicles, get a helicopter.**

**Mrs. Hudson looks around anxiously as a man walks slowly up the stairs behind her.**

**SHERLOCK (to Lestrade): We’re gonna have to move fast. This phone battery won’t last forever.**

**LESTRADE: We’ll just have a map reference, not a name.**

**SHERLOCK: It’s a start!**

**On the computer, a map has appeared and is now zooming in on the location of the phone.**

**JOHN: Sherlock ...**

“The suspense is nearly killing me! Hurry it up already!” Donovan shouted at the TV.

**SHERLOCK (to Lestrade): It narrows it down from just anyone in London. It’s the first proper lead that we’ve had.**

**JOHN: Sherlock ...**

**SHERLOCK (hurrying across the room to look over John’s shoulder): What is it? Quickly, where?**

**The map is now indicating the precise location of the phone.**

**JOHN: It’s here. It’s in 221 Baker Street.**

**SHERLOCK (straightening up): How can it be here? How?**

**LESTRADE: Well, maybe it was in the case when you brought it back and it fell out somewhere.**

“Inspector that is the worst thing to say to my brother,” Mycroft said with an unsympathetic chuckle.

**SHERLOCK: What, and I didn’t notice it? Me? I didn’t notice?**

**JOHN (to Lestrade): Anyway, we texted him and he called back.**

**Lestrade turns to call out to his colleagues.**

**LESTRADE: Guys, we’re also looking for a mobile somewhere here, belonged to the victim ...**

**Sherlock tunes him out as he begins to remember questions he asked to John earlier.**

**SHERLOCK (voiceover): ‘Who do we trust, even if we don’t know them?’**

“And, finally, he’s realizing it. Everything is falling into place in his head, just like in one of those mystery novels you’d read,” Molly said, nodding and gesturing with her arms at the screen.

**Behind Mrs. Hudson, the man has reached the top of the stairs. Wearing a cardigan and with a cap on his head obscuring his face, he has a badge in a leather holder on a cord around his neck. The badge is for a licenced London cab driver.**

**SHERLOCK (voiceover): ‘Who passes unnoticed wherever they go?’**

**In a cutaway, a black taxi drives down a rainy street with its sign lit indicating that it’s for hire.**

**In a flashback, at the railway station, Sir Jeffrey Patterson walks to the cab rank and raises his hand to a taxi.**

**SHERLOCK (voiceover): ‘Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?’**

**Sherlock stands lost in thought in the flat.**

“I can’t believe we didn’t notice that look on his face. Now, it’s obvious that he’s figured it out, but back then, we were so focused on finding the phone in the flat that we didn’t follow him outside and we let him walk light into a trap.”

**In a flashback, James Phillimore walks across the road, huddled against the pouring rain as a vacant taxi drives along the road behind him.**

**In a flashback, Beth Davenport looks around despairingly when she realizes that she doesn’t have her car keys. Nearby, a vacant cab pulls up.**

**In the flat, Sherlock turns, his mind racing as he puts all the clues together.**

**In a flashback, Jennifer Wilson arrives at a London train terminus and gets into the back of a taxi.**

**Sherlock turns his head, still putting it all together. On the landing, the taxi driver takes a pink smartphone from his pocket and presses the screen to send a text. A moment later, Sherlock’s own phone trills a text alert. Taking his phone from his jacket pocket he looks at the message which simply reads: COME WITH ME. As he turns his head towards the door, the taxi driver turns around and calmly heads off down the stairs.**

**JOHN: Sherlock, you okay?**

**SHERLOCK (vaguely, watching the man go): What? Yeah, yeah, I-I’m fine.**

**JOHN: So, how can the phone be here?**

**SHERLOCK (still watching the taxi driver): Dunno.**

“How?” John shouted. “How did I not see that?”

“It’s alright, John. It isn’t your fault,” Molly said. She put a hand on John’s arm to calm him. “You didn’t know him well enough at that point to realize that something was wrong.

**JOHN (getting up to get his own phone out of his jeans pocket): I’ll try it again.**

**SHERLOCK: Good idea.**

**He heads towards the door.**

**JOHN: Where are you going?**

**SHERLOCK: Fresh air. Just popping outside for a moment. Won’t be long.**

**John frowns as Sherlock leaves the room, and calls after him.**

**JOHN: You sure you’re all right?**

**SHERLOCK (hurrying down the stairs): I’m fine.**

“I should have followed him. No one does that and is actually fine,” John groaned, beating himself up about his past self’s idiotic actions that almost led to the death of his now-best friend. Well, deceased best friend. His heart clenched at the thought of the sleek black grave that he and Mrs. Hudson had just been to. Hopefully, these videos would also help him reminisce and give him some closure about Sherlock’s death.

“Well, it seems like the video is paused again. There should be about…what? One or two more after this, if my memory serves me. Each session had been about the same amount of time, so two more would be enough for us to see what the murder does with Sherlock that got him to almost take that pill,” John said. He remembered vividly seeing Sherlock through the window of that building, holding the pill to his mouth as he prepared to ingest it and most likely die, like the four people before him. He shuddered in his seat.

“Yeah, I really want to know, too,” Lestrade commented.

Looking back at the screen, they saw that once again it was black, and once again, there was a message. _“Don’t worry, all your questions will be answered momentarily. For now, relax, and enjoy a bit of a break from the chaos. After this first case, we’ll go on to the next one.”_

“What’s _the next one_ , according to you?” John asked, raising his eyes to the ceiling, looking once again for cameras, as it felt better than talking directly to the television.

The words on the screen changed, _“You’ll see. Let’s continue, shall we?”_

And then, the words disappeared, and once again, they were watching.

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	8. 1x1 Part 7 - A Study in Pink

“I can’t wait to see what the next case will be. And… I guess I’d also like to find out who was the one that shot the cabbie in the first place. I wonder if we’ll find out,” Lestrade said.

“Shh!” Anderson suddenly said. “It’s starting again!”

**Downstairs, Sherlock opens the front door and stands on the doorstep for a moment while he shrugs himself into his coat. A taxi is parked at the curb and the driver, Jeff Hope, is leaning casually against the side of the cab.**

**JEFF: Taxi for Sherlock ’olmes.**

**Sherlock steps forward, closing the door behind him.**

**SHERLOCK: I didn’t order a taxi.**

**JEFF: Doesn’t mean you don’t need one.**

“He’s already home and doesn’t have anywhere to go. Why would he _need_ a taxi?” John asked rhetorically.

**SHERLOCK: You’re the cabbie. The one who stopped outside Northumberland Street.**

“And now, I guess we’re watching Sherlock finally put all the puzzle pieces together,” Molly said. “You know, when we started this, I didn’t think it would be interesting, since we were all there anyway, but I’m starting to rethink my earlier conclusion.”

**In flashback, the American man sits in the back of the cab outside the restaurant and turns his head to the front. In the driver’s seat, Jeff looks over his shoulder and through the rear window of the cab before turning around again and starting to drive away.**

**SHERLOCK: It was you, not your passenger.**

**JEFF: See? No-one ever thinks about the cabbie. It’s like you’re invisible. Just the back of an ’ead. Proper advantage for a serial killer.**

“What is _wrong_ with this guy?” Donovan demanded. “He’s even worse than the freak!”

**Sherlock takes a few more steps forward and looks up towards the windows of his flat.**

**SHERLOCK: Is this a confession?**

**JEFF: Oh, yeah. An’ I’ll tell you what else: if you call the coppers now, I won’t run. I’ll sit quiet and they can take me down, I promise.**

“What?” The Yarders cried in shock.

“He was right there, and Sherlock didn’t hand him in to us? Why?” Lestrade demanded.

**SHERLOCK: Why?**

**JEFF: ’Cause you’re not gonna do that.**

“He’s not?” Anderson asked.

**SHERLOCK: Am I not?**

**JEFF: I didn’t kill those four people, Mr. ’olmes. I spoke to ’em ... and they killed themselves. An’ if you get the coppers now, I promise you one thing.**

**He leans forward.**

**JEFF: I will never tell you what I said.**

“Well, bugger. The cabbie knows exactly what to say to get Sherlock to follow him and not hand him in to the police. He did that on purpose. No wonder he was so calm,” John said as he threw his hands up into the air with a sigh of frustration.

**Sherlock stares at him. After a moment, Jeff straightens up and starts to walk around the front of the cab.**

**SHERLOCK: No-one else will die, though, and I believe they call that a result.**

“Wow, even back then, Sherlock knew what _result_ we were looking for,” Lestrade said.

“Too bad his curiosity got the better of him,” John grumbled, now crossing his arms.

“Well, dear, you can’t expect him to be a proper human _all_ the time!” Mrs. Hudson scolded. John’s eyebrows shot up at Mrs. Hudson’s claim until his just shook his head in resignation.

**Jeff stops and turns back towards him.**

**JEFF: An’ you won’t ever understand how those people died. What kind of result do you care about?**

“The one where he finds the truth. Always,” Mycroft said.

**He turns again and continues around to the driver’s door. Getting in, he sits down and closes the door, settling into his seat and ignoring Sherlock. Biting his lip, Sherlock walks closer to the cab, looking up again at the flat windows, then he bends and investigates the open side window of the cab.**

**SHERLOCK: If I wanted to understand, what would I do?**

**JEFF (turning to look at him): Let me take you for a ride.**

**SHERLOCK: So, you can kill me too?**

**JEFF: I don’t wanna kill you, Mr. ’olmes. I’m gonna talk to yer ... and then you’re gonna kill yourself.**

“Is it strange that I sometimes wondered what it would have taken to say to Sherlock that would’ve gotten him to kill himself?” Anderson asked. “Just…you know…hypothetically speaking?”

John, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade glared at him. “Well, you found that out, didn’t you?” Lestrade asked.

Anderson’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“He means that we found out what it would take to get the freak to off himself. We told everyone the truth about him and he couldn’t live with his fraud being exposed,” Donovan replied in a gruff tone.

Suddenly, John was out of his seat, tackling Sally out of her seat as well. He had her on the ground, hands at her throat as he attempted to strangle her. “You stop saying that about him right now! Sherlock wasn’t a fraud! How many times do we have to say it? How much more proof do you need?” he demanded.

It took the combined strength of Lestrade, Mycroft, and Anderson to pull the short army doctor off the police sergeant, but not before he’d choked her long enough for bruises to begin forming. The sergeant was back in her seat in a matter of minutes, her breathing ragged and her heart racing, but otherwise unharmed. John, as well, was back in his seat, under the watchful eye of the DI and the forensic scientist. He was still seething, his face flushed from anger and exertion.

They all turned their attention back to the television, which had conveniently paused for the spat to take place.

**He turns to face the front again. Sherlock straightens up, his eyes lost in thought as he considers the situation. Jeff calmly sits gazing out of the front window, then smiles in satisfaction when the rear door opens. The cab dips as Sherlock gets in and then the door slams shut. Jeff starts the engine.**

**Upstairs, John has his phone held to his ear and is looking out of the window. The cab can be heard as it pulls away.**

**JOHN: He just got in a cab.**

**He turns to Lestrade.**

**JOHN: It’s Sherlock. He just drove off in a cab.**

John groaned. “Now I know how Sherlock feels. No wonder he’s so angry at us when we don’t understand what’s going on as quickly as he does!”

**Donovan, standing beside Lestrade, tuts in irritation.**

**DONOVAN: I told you, he does that.**

**She turns to Lestrade.**

**DONOVAN: He bloody left again.**

**She walks back into the kitchen, talking loudly.**

**DONOVAN: We’re wasting our time!**

**JOHN (to Lestrade): I’m calling the phone. It’s ringing out.**

**In the cab, a phone is ringing. Sherlock watches Jeff as the pink phone – which Jeff has put in the well beside his seat – continues to ring. Back in the flat, Lestrade watches John as he continues to hold his phone to his ear.**

**LESTRADE: If it’s ringing, it’s not here.**

**John lowers his phone and reaches for the computer notebook.**

**JOHN: I’ll try the search again.**

**Donovan comes back to confront Lestrade.**

**DONOVAN: Does it matter? Does any of it? You know, he’s just a lunatic, and he’ll always let you down, and you’re wasting your time. All our time.**

**Lestrade stares at her for a long moment as she holds his gaze, then he sighs.**

**LESTRADE (loudly): Okay, everybody. Done ’ere.**

“And so, your trust in my brother begins to break,” Mycroft said solemnly.

Lestrade forced himself not to wince at the words.

**In the cab, Sherlock is watching the London scenery pass by.**

**SHERLOCK: How did you find me?**

**JEFF: Oh, I recognized yer, soon as I saw you chasing my cab. Sherlock ’olmes! I was warned about you. I’ve been on your website, too. Brilliant stuff! Loved it!**

**SHERLOCK: Who warned you about me?**

“I bet it was Moriarty,” John growled the words out past his clenched teeth.

**JEFF: Just someone out there who’s noticed you.**

**SHERLOCK: Who?**

**He leans forward, looking closely at the side of Jeff’s neck, then noticing a photograph of a young boy and girl attached to the dashboard of the cab.**

**SHERLOCK: Who would notice me?**

**JEFF (meeting his eyes briefly in the rearview mirror): You’re too modest, Mr. ’olmes.**

**SHERLOCK: I’m really not.**

**JEFF: You’ve got yourself a fan.**

“Yep,” John said, “Definitely Moriarty. Only that psychopath would set this up. He’s been behind everything from the very start!”

“If he has, do you think he set John up to meet Mike, knowing that Mike would suggest them as flatmates?” Molly asked.

John’s eyes went wide. “What…? I don’t know… It just seems too perfect…but why would he want that? Why would he want me to solve crimes with Sherlock?”

Molly shrugged. “How knows? He was a strange man.”

**SHERLOCK (nonchalantly, sitting back in his seat): Tell me more.**

**JEFF: That’s all you’re gonna know ...**

**He pauses dramatically for a moment.**

**JEFF (quietly): ... in this lifetime.**

**Back at the flat, as the other police officers leave, Lestrade picks up his coat and turns to John.**

“And we’re still at the flat. I can’t believe that we didn’t realize it sooner!” John shouted, mainly focussing his anger at the television version of himself.

**LESTRADE: Why did he do that? Why did he have to leave?**

**JOHN (shrugging): You know him better than I do.**

**LESTRADE: I’ve known him for five years and no, I don’t.**

**JOHN: So why do you put up with him?**

**LESTRADE: Because I’m desperate, that’s why.**

“Isn’t that the truth?” Anderson questioned. He had his eyes closed and was nodding his head in a way that said he wasn’t even asking, merely stating a fact.

**He walks to the door, then turns back.**

**LESTRADE: And because Sherlock Holmes is a great man. And I think one day, if we’re very, very lucky, he might even be a good one.**

**He turns and leaves. Some distance away, the cab drives on and finally stops at the front of two identical buildings side by side. Jeff turns off the engine and gets out, coming to the passenger door and opening it. He looks in at Sherlock.**

**SHERLOCK: Where are we?**

**JEFF: You know every street in London. You know exactly where we are.**

**SHERLOCK: Roland-Kerr Further Education College. Why here?**

**JEFF: It’s open; cleaners are in. One thing about being a cabbie: you always know a nice quiet spot for a murder. I’m surprised more of us don’t branch out.**

“What a sick-minded man!” Mrs. Hudson cried in indignation.

**SHERLOCK: And you just walk your victims in? How?**

**Jeff raises a pistol and points it at Sherlock. Sherlock rolls his eyes and turns his head away.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, dull.**

“Of _course_ , that’s Sherlock’s reaction!” Molly said, her voice wrought with worry. The scientist in her was saying that he didn’t die here, or even get hurt, but her heart argued greatly against her logic.

**JEFF: Don’t worry. It gets better.**

**SHERLOCK: You can’t make people take their own lives at gunpoint.**

**JEFF: I don’t. It’s much better than that.**

**He lowers the gun.**

**JEFF: Don’t need this with you, ’cause you’ll follow me.**

**He confidently walks away. Sherlock sits for a moment, then grimaces in exasperation at himself as he does just what Jeff predicted and gets out of the cab to follow the man.**

“Sherlock!” Mrs. Hudson scolded at the television, though she also sighed as she had expected said action from her tenant.

*****

**Back at 221B, John is alone in the flat. He appears to have decided to go home and walks towards the living room door, then looks down and clenches his right hand as if realizing that he doesn’t have his walking cane. He looks around and sees the cane lying on top of a box of papers next to the dining table and goes over to collect it. With its back to him, Sherlock’s notebook is still on Mephone’s website and the clock is spinning on the screen while the site searches for Jennifer Wilson’s phone. As John picks up the cane and heads for the door again, the computer beeps triumphantly and a map appears on the screen and starts to zoom in on the new location of the phone. John turns back as the computer beeps repeatedly. Going back to the table and propping his cane against it, he picks up the notebook and looks at the screen, then he turns and takes the notebook with him as he hurries out of the door and down the stairs, once again forgetting to take his cane.**

“Finally!” John yelled at himself.

*****

**At Roland-Kerr College, Jeff opens the door of a room and stands aside so that Sherlock can go in. Sherlock looks at him closely but steps inside the room, then Jeff releases the door and lets it swing closed as he walks over to some switches on the wall and turns on the lights. The men are in a large classroom which has long fixed wooden benches and free-standing plastic chairs. Sherlock walks deeper into the room, looking around.**

**JEFF: Well, what do you think?**

**Sherlock raises his hands and shrugs as if to ask, _‘What do I think about what?’_**

**JEFF: It’s up to you. You’re the one who’s gonna die ’ere.**

**Sherlock turns back to him.**

**SHERLOCK: No, I’m not.**

**JEFF: That’s what they all say.**

**He gestures to one of the benches.**

**JEFF: Shall we talk?**

**Without waiting for a reply, he pulls out one of the chairs and sits down. Sherlock takes a chair from the bench in front, flips it around and sits down opposite. He sighs dramatically while he takes off his gloves and puts them into his coat pockets.**

**SHERLOCK: Bit risky, wasn’t it? Took me away under the eye of about half a dozen policemen. They’re not that stupid. And Mrs. Hudson will remember you.**

**JEFF: You call that a risk? Nah.**

**He reaches into the left pocket of his cardigan.**

**JEFF: This is a risk.**

**He takes out a small glass bottle with a screw top and puts it onto the table in front of him. There is a single large capsule inside. Sherlock looks at it but doesn’t react in any way.**

“There’s the pill,” Anderson said.

“The freak’s not actually going to take it, is he?” Donovan asked.

“Of course not. This already happened, and he didn’t die,” Lestrade replied. “How could you forget that?”

**JEFF: Ooh, I like this bit. ’Cause you don’t get it yet, do yer? But you’re about to. I just have to do this.**

**Reaching into his right pocket, he takes out an identical bottle containing an identical capsule and puts it onto the table beside the first bottle.**

**JEFF: You weren’t expecting that, were yer?**

**He leans forward.**

**JEFF: Ooh, you’re going to love this.**

**SHERLOCK: Love what?**

**JEFF (sitting back again): Sherlock ’olmes. Look at you! ’Ere in the flesh. That website of yours: your fan told me about it.**

**SHERLOCK: My fan?**

**JEFF: You are brilliant. You are. A proper genius. “The Science of Deduction.” Now that is proper thinking. Between you and me sitting ’ere, why can’t people think?**

**He looks down angrily.**

**JEFF: Don’t it make you mad? Why can’t people just think?**

**He looks up again into Sherlock’s eyes. Sherlock looks back at him for a long moment, narrowing his eyes, then makes a realization.**

**SHERLOCK (his voice dripping with sarcasm): Oh, I see. So, you’re a proper genius too.**

**JEFF: Don’t look it, do I? Funny little man drivin’ a cab. But you’ll know better in a minute. Chances are it’ll be the last thing you ever know.**

**Sherlock holds his gaze for a second or two, then looks down to the table.**

**SHERLOCK: Okay, two bottles. Explain.**

**JEFF: There’s a good bottle and a bad bottle. You take the pill from the good bottle, you live; take the pill from the bad bottle, you die.**

“The cabbie is ‘princess-bride’-ing Sherlock! And he didn’t realize it because he doesn’t stay up to date with his pop culture!” Anderson exclaimed, pointing at the television screen.

**SHERLOCK: Both bottles are of course identical.**

**JEFF: In every way.**

**SHERLOCK: And you know which is which.**

**JEFF: ‘Course I know.**

**SHERLOCK: But I don’t.**

**JEFF: Wouldn’t be a game if you knew. You’re the one who chooses.**

**SHERLOCK: Why should I? I’ve got nothing to go on. What’s in it for me?**

**JEFF: I ’aven’t told you the best bit yet. Whatever bottle you choose, I take the pill from the other one – and then, together, we take our medicine.**

**Sherlock starts to grin. Now he’s interested.**

“Oh, dear, boy,” Mrs. Hudson said with a sigh. “I know that look.”

**JEFF: I won’t cheat. It’s your choice. I’ll take whatever pill you don’t.**

“But that’s how he does it, isn’t it? He cheats. He manipulates the victim into choosing the bad bottle. If they choose the good one, he’ll make sure they change their mind,” Lestrade pointed out.

**Sherlock looks down at the bottles, concentrating properly now.**

**JEFF: Didn’t expect that, did you, Mr. ’olmes?**

**SHERLOCK: This is what you did to the rest of them: you gave them a choice.**

**JEFF: And now I’m givin’ you one.**

**Sherlock looks up at him.**

**JEFF: You take your time. Get yourself together.**

**He licks his lips in anticipation.**

**JEFF: I want your best game.**

**SHERLOCK: It’s not a game. It’s chance.**

**JEFF: I’ve played four times. I’m alive. It’s not chance, Mr. ’olmes, it’s chess. It’s a game of chess, with one move, and one survivor. And this ... this ... is the move.**

**With his left hand he slides the left-hand bottle across the table towards Sherlock. He licks his top lip as he pulls his hand back and leaves the bottle where it is.**

**JEFF: Did I just give you the good bottle or the bad bottle? You can choose either one.**

“Does anyone else imagine Sherlock saying exactly what Vizzini said throughout that one scene in the Princess Bride?” Anderson asked as the screen froze once again. The person who brought them to the room was obviously anticipating for them to have a conversation about it – or at least say something longer than an offhand comment.

“Um…not really,” John replied. “Though I haven’t seen the movie in quite some time. If he were to, though, I’m sure it would be hilarious,” John said, though his tone was slightly flat at the thought of his best friend performing such a funny scene from a movie he most likely hadn’t ever seen.

“Who are you even talking about?” Mycroft asked, one eyebrow raised in confusion. Obviously, he hadn’t seen the movie either.

“He’s a funny little man who is constantly saying ‘inconceivable!’ throughout the entire movie until he dies because he ingested poison during a battle of wits. We could show it to you, if you want, after we get out of here,” Molly stepped in to explain. Anderson and John nodded along with her description of the man.

“Throughout that scene, he kept saying reasons as to why he couldn’t choose the wine in front of him, and then doubling back saying another explanation as to why he couldn’t choose the other glass either. In the end, he made his opponent turn his back, switched the glasses, and took the one in front of himself,” Lestrade explained.

“As it turned out, they were both poisoned, but Wesley, the other man, had built up a tolerance to that poison, so he didn’t die, but Vizzini did,” Anderson finished.

After the explanation, the screen unfroze once more to continue.

**John is in the back of a taxi. He has the computer notebook open on his lap and is holding his phone to his ear.**

**JOHN (into phone): No, Detective Inspector Lestrade. I need to speak to him. It’s important. It’s an emergency!**

**The map on the laptop shows the location of Jennifer’s phone again.**

**JOHN (to the cab driver): Er, left here, please. Left here.**

“Come one, John! Hurry up!” Molly said to the television. Her heart was racing in her chest, almost as fast as a hummingbird’s wings.

**ROLAND-KERR COLLEGE. Jeff looks down at the bottles briefly then meets Sherlock’s eyes.**

**JEFF: You ready yet, Mr. ’olmes? Ready to play?**

**SHERLOCK: Play what? It’s a fifty-fifty chance.**

**JEFF: You’re not playin’ the numbers, you’re playin’ me. Did I just give you the good pill or the bad pill? Is it a bluff? Or a double-bluff? Or a triple-bluff?**

“That’s almost as confusing as Vizzini,” Anderson said, holding his head and groaning as if he was dizzy.

**SHERLOCK: Still just chance.**

**JEFF: Four people in a row? It’s not just chance.**

**SHERLOCK: Luck.**

**JEFF: It’s genius. I know ’ow people think.**

**Sherlock rolls his eyes.**

**JEFF: I know ’ow people think I think. I can see it all, like a map inside my ’ead.**

**Sherlock looks exasperated.**

**JEFF: Everyone’s so stupid – even you.**

**Sherlock’s gaze sharpens.**

**JEFF: Or maybe God just loves me.**

**Sherlock straightens up and leans forward, clasping his hands in front of him on the table.**

**SHERLOCK: Either way, you’re wasted as a cabbie.**

“Of course, that’s what he’d think: that the man is wasted as a cabbie. Maybe he’d be better as a cellmate? Huh?” John asked.

Molly’s eyes suddenly widened. “Wait. Don’t you realize what Sherlock is doing? He’s stalling. Do you think he knows that John’s on his way?”

“I never thought of that!” Lestrade said. “But…John only arrived after we did.”

**John has arrived at Roland-Kerr College. As the taxi pulls away, John tucks the notebook into his jacket and looks at the two identical buildings in front of him. Clearly the map isn’t precise enough to indicate exactly where the phone is. After a moment, he makes his choice and heads towards the buildings.**

Lestrade stared at the screen, confused. “Huh? John, where did you go? When we got there, Sherlock was standing next to the cabbie’s body and you were nowhere to be found.”

John smiled sadly. “You’ll see soon enough.”

**In the classroom, Sherlock lifts his clasped hands in front of his mouth and gazes at Jeff intently.**

**SHERLOCK: So, you risked your life four times just to kill strangers. Why?**

**Jeff nods down to the bottles.**

**JEFF: Time to play.**

**SHERLOCK (unfolding his fingers and adopting the prayer position in front of his mouth): Oh, I am playing. This is my turn. There’s shaving foam behind your left ear. Nobody’s pointed it out to you.**

“Oh! I see what he’s doing, now!” Molly said. A brilliant smile lit up her face as she watched the screen. She left the others confused as she gave no further explanation.

**Flashback to Jeff sitting in the driver’s seat of the cab, which is when Sherlock noticed this.**

**SHERLOCK: Traces of where it’s happened before, so obviously you live on your own; there’s no-one to tell you.**

**Jeff tries not to fidget under Sherlock’s gaze.**

**SHERLOCK: But there’s a photograph of children. The children’s mother has been cut out of the picture. If she’d died, she’d still be there.**

**Flashback to the photograph attached to the dashboard of the cab. There is indeed a third person at the left of the photograph, but the photo has been cut along that side to remove most of her image.**

**SHERLOCK: The photograph’s old but the frame’s new. You think of your children, but you don’t get to see them.**

**Jeff’s gaze slides away from Sherlock and for the first time, there’s a hint of pain in his eyes.**

**SHERLOCK: Estranged father. She took the kids, but you still love them, and it still hurts.**

“He’s just having his fun at this point,” Lestrade grumbled.

**He extends his index fingers.**

**SHERLOCK: Ah, but there’s more.**

**Jeff lifts his gaze back to Sherlock as he points his index fingers towards him.**

**SHERLOCK: Your clothes: recently laundered but everything you’re wearing’s at least ... three years old? Keeping up appearances but not planning ahead. And here you are on a kamikaze murder spree. What’s that about?**

**Jeff has got control of himself again and his expression says nothing as he gazes back at Sherlock. The detective’s eyes widen slightly as he makes his most important deduction.**

**SHERLOCK (softly): Ahh. Three years ago – is that when they told you?**

**JEFF (flatly): Told me what?**

**Sherlock’s deduction seems to appear beside Jeff’s head:**

*****

**DYING**

*****

“And there’s that nonsense again!” Donovan said.

**SHERLOCK: That you’re a dead man walking.**

**JEFF: So are you.**

**SHERLOCK: You don’t have long, though. Am I right?**

**Jeff smiles.**

**JEFF: Aneurism.**

**He lifts his right hand and taps the side of his head.**

**JEFF: Right in ’ere.**

**Sherlock smiles in satisfaction.**

**JEFF: Any breath could be my last.**

**SHERLOCK (frowning again): And because you’re dying, you’ve just murdered four people.**

**JEFF: I’ve outlived four people. That’s the most fun you can ’ave on an aneurism.**

“That’s twisted logic, that is,” Mrs. Hudson said, staring at the screen with worry in her gaze.

**SHERLOCK (thoughtfully): No. No, there’s something else. You didn’t just kill four people because you’re bitter. Bitterness is a paralytic. Love is a much more vicious motivator. Somehow this is about your children.**

**JEFF (looking away and sighing): Ohh.**

**He looks at Sherlock again.**

**JEFF: You are good, ain’t you?**

**SHERLOCK: But how?**

**JEFF: When I die, they won’t get much, my kids. Not a lot of money in driving cabs.**

**SHERLOCK: Or serial killing.**

**JEFF: You’d be surprised.**

**SHERLOCK: Surprise me.**

**Jeff leans forward.**

**JEFF: I ’ave a sponsor.**

“Moriarty. He’s paying the cabbie to murder people. For what? To make a fun little game for Sherlock? That man really _is_ crazy!” Lestrade said.

“You _just_ figured that out?” John asked incredulously.

**SHERLOCK: You have a what?**

**JEFF: For every life I take, money goes to my kids. The more I kill, the better off they’ll be. You see? It’s nicer than you think.**

**SHERLOCK (frowning): Who’d sponsor a serial killer?**

**JEFF (instantly): Who’d be a fan of Sherlock ’olmes?**

“He does have a point,” Anderson said.

“And they’re the same person!” Donovan shouted, “Proves my point! The only man to be a fan of the freak would have to be a psychopath! Which, he is.”

“Oh, what point was that, Sally?” John asked coldly, “I thought you said that Moriarty didn’t actually exist?”

“Well…he doesn’t. He’s just a character that the freak made up to give him cases. See? The freak’s having fun right now, and he planned it all.”

John threw his hands up once more. “So, everything that we’ve been watching – seeing Sherlock _as_ he figures things out – that’s done _nothing_ to convince you otherwise?” he demanded to know.

Donovan shrugged.

**They stare at each other for a moment.**

**JEFF: You’re not the only one to enjoy a good murder. There’s others out there just like you, except you’re just a man ... and they’re so much more than that.**

**The side of Sherlock’s nose twitches in distaste.**

**SHERLOCK: What d’you mean, more than a man? An organization? What?**

**JEFF: There’s a name no-one says, an’ I’m not gonna say it either. Now, enough chatter.**

**He nods down to the bottles.**

**JEFF: Time to choose.**

**Sherlock looks down to the bottles, his eyes moving from one to the other.**

“Come on, Sherlock, dear! Stall just a little bit longer! John’s on his way!” Mrs. Hudson cried out.

“And if not, I’m on my way, too,” Lestrade mumbled.

**Elsewhere in the college, John is running through the corridors.**

**JOHN (calling out): Sherlock?**

**He runs from door to door, trying them and peering in through windows.**

**JOHN: Sherlock!**

*****

**CLASSROOM.**

**SHERLOCK: What if I don’t choose either? I could just walk out of here.**

“He has a point, but didn’t the old man pull out a pistol earlier?”

**Sighing in a combination of exasperation and disappointment, Jeff lifts the pistol and points it at Sherlock.**

**JEFF: You can take your fifty-fifty chance, or I can shoot you in the head.**

**Sherlock smiles calmly.**

**JEFF: Funnily enough, no-one’s ever gone for that option.**

**SHERLOCK: I’ll have the gun, please.**

“What? Sherlock, what are you doing? Take the chance! If he shoots you, you _definitely_ won’t live!” Anderson said.

**JEFF: Are you sure?**

“Now, he’s attempting to get my brother to change his mind. A horrible task if you ask me. Once Sherlock’s got an idea in his head, it’s nearly impossible to get him to say otherwise,” Mycroft said with an almost unnoticeable groan. There’s an exasperated tone in his voice.

**SHERLOCK (still smiling): Definitely. The gun.**

**JEFF: You don’t wanna phone a friend?**

**Sherlock smiles confidently.**

**SHERLOCK: The gun.**

**Jeff’s mouth tightens, and slowly he squeezes the trigger. A small flame bursts out of the end of the muzzle. Sherlock smiles smugly.**

**SHERLOCK: I know a real gun when I see one.**

“At least there’s a pro to that,” Lestrade vocalized.

**Calmly Jeff lifts the pistol/cigarette lighter and releases the trigger. The flame goes out.**

**JEFF: None of the others did.**

**SHERLOCK: Clearly. Well, this has been very interesting. I look forward to the court case.**

**He stands up and walks towards the door. Jeff puts the gun onto the desk and calmly turns in his seat.**

**JEFF: Just before you go, did you figure it out ...**

Lestrade nodded at the screen. “Ah, here it is. The proper genius. The one who convinced Sherlock to nearly take the pill.”

**Sherlock stops at the door and half-turns towards him.**

**JEFF: ... which one’s the good bottle?**

**SHERLOCK: Of course. Child’s play.**

**JEFF: Well, which one, then?**

**Sherlock opens the door a little but shows no sign of leaving the room.**

**JEFF: Which one would you ’ave picked, just so I know whether I could have beaten you?**

**Sherlock closes the door again.**

**JEFF (chuckling): Come on. Play the game.**

**Slowly Sherlock walks back towards him. When he gets to the table, he reaches out and sweeps up the bottle nearest to Jeff, then walks past him. Jeff looks down at the other bottle with interest, but his voice gives nothing away as he speaks.**

**JEFF: Oh. Interesting.**

**He picks up the other bottle as Sherlock looks down at the bottle in his own hand.**

**Out in the corridors, John is still running along and searching.**

**In the classroom, Jeff has opened his bottle and tips the capsule out into his hand. He holds it up and looks at it closely while Sherlock examines his own bottle.**

**JEFF: So what d’you think?**

**He looks up at Sherlock.**

**JEFF: Shall we?**

“See? He just got Sherlock to play the game, even though he had the power to just walk out. Damn his need for excitement!” John bellowed, his anger apparent.

Everyone else watched in horror at the scene before them. Not moving, not speaking, just watching.

**In the corridors, John pulls open yet another door and looks inside the room before hurrying onwards.**

**JEFF: Really, what do you think?**

**He has stood up and is facing Sherlock.**

**JEFF: Can you beat me?**

**John races up a flight of stairs and continues his search.**

**JEFF: Are you clever enough to bet your life?**

**John bursts through a door and stares ahead of him as he finally sees who he’s looking for. His eyes fill with horror. Inside the classroom, Sherlock lifts his gaze from the bottle he’s holding ... and the camera zooms over his shoulder and out of the window behind him, soaring across the courtyard outside and in through another window to reveal John standing in an identical classroom in the other building, too far away to be of help. John cries out in horror.**

**JOHN: SHERLOCK!**

“Damnit, John! You’re in the wrong building!” Lestrade cried out in frustration.

“You can’t blame _me_ for that! It was a fifty-fifty chance! Unlike, Sherlock, I didn’t have a psychopath there to convince me to choose the wrong building!” John replied.

**Unaware that they’re being watched, Jeff continues to hold up his pill as he looks at Sherlock.**

**JEFF: I bet you get bored, don’t you? I know you do. A man like you ...**

**Sherlock unscrews the lid of the bottle.**

**JEFF: ... so clever. But what’s the point of being clever if you can’t prove it?**

**Sherlock takes out the capsule and holds it between his thumb and finger, raising it to the light to examine it more closely.**

**JEFF: Still the addict.**

“Obviously,” Mycroft uttered.

“Is it bad that I’d prefer he stick to cocaine?” Molly asked.

**Slowly Sherlock lowers the pill again, holding it at eye level and gazing at it.**

**JEFF: But this ... this is what you’re really addicted to, innit?**

**Sherlock holds the pill in his fingers and stares at it.**

**JEFF: You’d do anything ... anything at all ...**

**Sherlock’s fingers begin to tremble with excitement and anticipation.**

**JEFF: ... to stop being bored.**

“And there you have it! _‘How to Kill Sherlock Holmes’_ in a nutshell! Figure something out to stop him from being bored!” John announced sarcastically.

**Slowly Sherlock begins to move the pill closer to his mouth. Jeff matches the movement with his own pill towards his own mouth.**

**JEFF: You’re not bored now, are you?**

**Each of their hands gets closer to their mouths.**

**JEFF: Innit good?**

**A gunshot rings out and a bullet impacts Jeff’s chest close to his heart, continuing through his body and smashing into the door behind him. As he falls to the floor, Sherlock drops his pill in surprise. In the opposite building, John has his pistol still raised and aimed out of the window. He lowers the gun to his side. In the other building, Sherlock turns, slides over the desk behind him and hurries to the window, bending down to stare through the bullet hole in the glass. The window of the opposite room is open but there is nobody in sight. As Sherlock straightens up, Jeff breathes heavily and coughs. Sherlock turns back, looking around the room and seeing one of the pills lying on the desk as Jeff convulses on the floor and gasps and coughs in pain. Sherlock snatches up the pill, kneels down and brandishes it at Jeff, who has a large pool of blood underneath him and is staring up at him in shock.**

“Good shot, John!” Mrs. Hudson congratulated.

**SHERLOCK: Was I right?**

“I don’t think Sherlock appreciated the interruption as much as you do Mrs. H,” Lestrade said with a small chuckle, though there was no humour in his words.

**Jeff turns his head away in disbelief.**

**SHERLOCK: I was, wasn’t I? Did I get it right?**

**Jeff doesn’t reply. Sherlock angrily hurls the pill across the room and stands up.**

**SHERLOCK: Okay, tell me this: your sponsor. Who was it? The one who told you about me – my ‘fan’. I want a name.**

**JEFF (weakly): No.**

**SHERLOCK: You’re dying, but there’s still time to hurt you. Give me a name.**

**Jeff shakes his head. Grimacing angrily, Sherlock lifts his foot and puts it onto Jeff’s shoulder. Jeff gasps in pain.**

There were a few gasps in the room.

“Sherlock is _torturing_ that man for information!” Molly cried out in shock.

**SHERLOCK: A name.**

**Jeff cries out in pain.**

**SHERLOCK: Now.**

**Still, Jeff can only whine in pain. His face intent and manic, Sherlock leans his weight onto his foot. Jeff whimpers.**

**SHERLOCK (furiously): The NAME!**

**JEFF (agonized): MORIARTY!**

**His eyes close and his head rolls to the side. Sherlock steps back, turning his head away and looking reflective. After a few seconds, he silently mouths the word ‘Moriarty’ to himself.**

Just then, the screen paused and turned black. More words appeared on the screen. _“I’ll give you another little break. Heart-racing stuff, isn’t it? Just take some time to relax. Sherlock is fine, the serial killer’s dead, and the plot thickens! Yay!”_

“I bet this person is a psychopath, too,” John grumbled. “He or she is treating out lives like a damn tv drama!”

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	9. 1x1 Part 8 - A Study in Pink

The break was a little longer than they anticipated. It was almost as if their mysterious captor had taken a washroom break because, by the time they were calmed down and ready to continue, the screen remained blank. The words fluttered slightly, making their heartrates spike, but remained on screen, eliciting groans of disappointment.

Finally, the screen turned white, then returned to the image where they left off.

**LATER. Outside the college, Sherlock is sitting on the back steps of an ambulance. A paramedic puts an orange blanket around his shoulders as Lestrade walks over. Sherlock gestures to the blanket.**

"I remember that bit!" Lestrade said, grinning ear to ear. "What a sight! I think we got a framed photo of that in the office."

**SHERLOCK: Why have I got this blanket? They keep putting this blanket on me.**

**LESTRADE: Yeah, it's for shock.**

**SHERLOCK: I'm not in shock.**

**LESTRADE: Yeah, but some of the guys wanna take photographs.**

**He grins. Sherlock rolls his eyes.**

**SHERLOCK: So, the shooter. No sign?**

**LESTRADE: Cleared off before we got 'ere. But a guy like that would have had enemies, I suppose. One of them could have been following him but ... (he shrugs) ... got nothing to go on.**

**Sherlock looks at him pointedly.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, I wouldn't say that.**

**Now it's Lestrade's turn to roll his eyes.**

**LESTRADE: Okay, gimme.**

**SHERLOCK (standing up): The bullet they just dug out of the wall's from a handgun. Kill shot over that distance from that kind of a weapon – that's a crack shot you're looking for, but not just a marksman; a fighter. His hands couldn't have shaken at all, so clearly, he's acclimatized to violence. He didn't fire until I was in immediate danger, though, so strong moral principle. You're looking for a man probably with a history of military service ...**

**While he's talking, he turns his head to look around the area and sees John standing some distance away behind the police tape.**

"No wonder he stopped talking. Wouldn't want his boyfriend sent to jail on a murder charge," Mrs. Hudson said.

John groaned. "How many times have I said this? Sherlock was _not_ my boyfriend."

As per usual, everyone ignored him.

**SHERLOCK: ... and nerves of steel ...**

**He trails off. As John looks back at him innocently and then turns his head away, Sherlock clearly begins to realize the connection. Lestrade turns to follow Sherlock's gaze and Sherlock turns back to him before he can start to ask questions.**

**SHERLOCK: Actually, do you know what? Ignore me.**

**LESTRADE: Sorry?**

**SHERLOCK: Ignore all of that. It's just the, er, the shock talking.**

**He starts to walk towards John.**

**LESTRADE: Where're you going?**

**SHERLOCK: I just need to talk about the-the rent.**

"Lestrade, how could you have been so blind?" Donovan asked.

"He could have been in shock!" Lestrade defeated, "You never know with him!"

**LESTRADE: But I've still got questions for you.**

**SHERLOCK (turning back to him in irritation): Oh, what now? I'm in shock! Look, I've got a blanket!**

**He brandishes the sides of the blanket at Lestrade as if to prove it.**

**LESTRADE: Sherlock!**

**SHERLOCK: And I just caught you a serial killer ... more or less.**

**Lestrade looks at him thoughtfully for a moment.**

**LESTRADE: Okay. We'll bring you in tomorrow. Off you go.**

**Sherlock walks away. Lestrade smiles as he watches him go. Taking the blanket from around his shoulders, Sherlock bundles it up as he approaches John, who is standing at the side of a police car. Sherlock tosses the blanket through the open window of the car and ducks under the police tape.**

**JOHN: Um, Sergeant Donovan's just been explaining everything, the two pills. Been a dreadful business, hasn't it? Dreadful.**

**Sherlock looks at him for a moment.**

**SHERLOCK (quietly): Good shot.**

**JOHN (trying and utterly failing to look innocent): Yes. Yes, must have been, through that window.**

**SHERLOCK: Well, you'd know.**

**John gazes up at him, still unsuccessfully trying not to let his expression give him away.**

"You may be a dead-shot, John, but you're a horrible poker face," Lestrade said.

"You're not going to arrest me, are you?" he asked.

Lestrade shrugged. "Self-defence, I'm calling it."

**SHERLOCK: Need to get the powder burns out of your fingers. I don't suppose you'd serve time for this, but let's avoid the court case.**

**John clears his throat and looks around nervously.**

**SHERLOCK: Are you all right?**

**JOHN: Yes, of course, I'm all right.**

**SHERLOCK: Well, you have just killed a man.**

**JOHN: Yes, I ...**

**He trails off. Sherlock looks at him closely.**

**JOHN: That's true, innit?**

**He smiles. Sherlock continues to watch him carefully.**

"That makes you look like more of a psycho than Moriarty," Lestrade whispered to John.

**JOHN: But he wasn't a very nice man.**

**Apparently reassured that John really is okay, Sherlock nods in agreement.**

**SHERLOCK: No. No, he wasn't really, was he?**

**JOHN: And frankly a bloody awful cabbie.**

**Sherlock chuckles then he turns and starts to lead them away.**

**SHERLOCK: That's true. He was a bad cabbie. Should have seen the route he took us to get here!**

**John giggles, and Sherlock smiles.**

**JOHN: Stop! Stop, we can't giggle, it's a crime scene! Stop it!**

**SHERLOCK: You're the one who shot him. Don't blame me.**

"You two are walking away from a crime scene, laughing because you just killed a man! What kind of sick b******* are you?" Donovan demanded, turning to stare at John.

He raised his hands. "Shock."

**JOHN: Keep your voice down!**

**They're walking past Sergeant Donovan.**

**JOHN (to Donovan): Sorry – it's just, um, nerves, I think.**

**SHERLOCK (to Donovan): Sorry.**

**John clears his throat as they walk away from Donovan.**

**JOHN: You were gonna take that damned pill, weren't you?**

**Sherlock stops and turns back to him.**

**SHERLOCK: Course I wasn't. Biding my time. Knew you'd turn up.**

**JOHN: No, you didn't. It's how you get your kicks, isn't it? You risk your life to prove you're clever.**

**SHERLOCK: Why would I do that?**

**JOHN: Because you're an idiot.**

**Sherlock smiles, apparently delighted that he has finally found someone who understands him and – more to the point – doesn't care about his behaviour. After a moment he forces the smile down.**

**SHERLOCK: Dinner?**

**JOHN: Starving.**

"See what I mean, John? If that's not a romantic relationship, I don't know what is," Mrs. Hudson said furiously.

"You were married to the owner of a drug cartel," John pointed out.

Mrs. Hudson didn't have an answer for that.

**They turn and start to walk again.**

**SHERLOCK: End of Baker Street, there's a good Chinese stays open 'til two. You can always tell a good Chinese by examining the bottom third of the door handle.**

**As he was speaking, a few yards ahead of them a car has pulled up and the man who abducted John earlier gets out. Not-Anthea is with him. John stares.**

**JOHN: Sherlock. That's him. That's the man I was talking to you about.**

**Sherlock looks across at the man.**

**SHERLOCK: I know exactly who that is.**

**He walks closer to the man and stops, looking at him angrily. John glances round to gauge where the police are in case he needs to summon their help. The man speaks pleasantly to Sherlock.**

**MAN: So, another case cracked. How very public-spirited ... though that's never really your motivation, is it?**

**SHERLOCK: What are you doing here?**

**MAN: As ever, I'm concerned about you.**

**SHERLOCK: Yes, I've been hearing about your 'concern'.**

**MAN: Always so aggressive. Did it never occur to you that you and I belong on the same side?**

**SHERLOCK: Oddly enough, no!**

"If you understand the context, it's horribly obvious that this is a sibling rivalry, but poor John is left there to wonder what is going on as usual," Lestrade said.

**MAN: We have more in common than you like to believe. This petty feud between us is simply childish. People will suffer ... and you know how it always upset Mummy.**

**John frowns as if unsure of what he just heard.**

**SHERLOCK: I upset her? Me?**

**The man glowers at him.**

**SHERLOCK: It wasn't me that upset her, Mycroft.**

**JOHN: No, no, wait. Mummy? Who's Mummy?**

"Apart from the strange fact that both of you still refer to your mother by 'mummy' despite being full-grown men, it should be quite obvious," Donovan said.

**SHERLOCK: Mother – our mother. This is my brother, Mycroft.**

**John stares at the man in amazement.**

**SHERLOCK (to Mycroft): Putting on weight again?**

**MYCROFT: Losing it, in fact.**

**JOHN (to Sherlock): He's your brother?!**

**SHERLOCK: Of course, he's my brother.**

**JOHN: So, he's not ...**

**SHERLOCK: Not what?**

**The brothers look at John as he shrugs in embarrassment.)**

**JOHN: I dunno – criminal mastermind?**

"Whatever gave you that impression?" Mycroft asked, feigning ignorance, which seemed to physically pain him.

**He grimaces at having even suggested it. Sherlock looks at Mycroft disparagingly.**

**SHERLOCK: Close enough.**

**MYCROFT: For goodness' sake. I occupy a minor position in the British government.**

**SHERLOCK: He is the British government when he's not too busy being the British Secret Service or the CIA on a freelance basis.**

**Mycroft sighs.**

**SHERLOCK: Good evening, Mycroft. Try not to start a war before I get home. You know what it does for the traffic.**

**He walks away. John starts to follow him but then turns back to Mycroft, who has turned to watch his brother.**

**JOHN: So, when-when you say you're concerned about him, you actually are concerned?**

**MYCROFT: Yes, of course.**

**JOHN: I mean, it actually is a childish feud?**

**MYCROFT (still watching his brother): He's always been so resentful. You can imagine the Christmas dinners.**

**JOHN: Yeah ... no. God, no!**

**He half-turns to follow Sherlock.**

**JOHN: I-I'd better, um ...**

**He turns back to not-Anthea, who has been standing nearby throughout the conversation with her eyes fixed on her BlackBerry.**

"There she is, again," John said with a sigh, "I never did learn her name..."

**JOHN: Hello again.**

**She looks up and smiles at him brightly.**

**NOT-ANTHEA: Hello.**

**JOHN: Yes, we-we met earlier on this evening.**

**She stares at him as if she has never seen him before but is pretending that she remembers him.**

**NOT-ANTHEA: Oh!**

**JOHN (somewhat exasperated): Okay, good night.**

**He includes Mycroft in his glance, then turns and follows Sherlock.**

**MYCROFT: Good night, Doctor Watson.**

**John catches up to Sherlock and they walk away side by side.**

**JOHN: So: dim sum.**

**SHERLOCK: Mmm! I can always predict the fortune cookies.**

**JOHN: No, you can't.**

**SHERLOCK: Almost can. You did get shot, though.**

**JOHN: Sorry?**

**SHERLOCK: In Afghanistan. There was an actual wound.**

**JOHN: Oh, yeah. Shoulder.**

**SHERLOCK: Shoulder! I thought so.**

**JOHN: No, you didn't.**

**SHERLOCK: The left one.**

**JOHN: Lucky guess.**

**SHERLOCK: I never guess.**

**JOHN (laughing): Yes, you do.**

"All he does is guess! They're educated guesses, but they're still guesses!" Anderson claimed.

**He looks across to Sherlock, who is smiling.**

**JOHN: What are you so happy about?**

**SHERLOCK: Moriarty.**

**JOHN: What's Moriarty?**

**SHERLOCK (cheerfully): I've absolutely no idea.**

**Back at the car, not-Anthea turns to Mycroft who is watching the boys as they walk away.**

**NOT-ANTHEA: Sir, shall we go?**

**MYCROFT: Interesting, that soldier fellow.**

**Not-Anthea looks briefly at the departing boys, then turns her attention back to her BlackBerry.**

**MYCROFT: He could be the making of my brother – or make him worse than ever. Either way, we'd better upgrade their surveillance status. Grade Three Active.**

**Not-Anthea looks up from her phone.**

**NOT-ANTHEA: Sorry, sir. Whose status?**

**Mycroft intensely watches the departing men.**

**MYCROFT: Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson.**

The screen turns black again and new words popped up. _"So, that's the end of the first 'episode'. Each important case is an episode, meaning every case where your overall villain is involved – they will be here. Enjoy some lunch before we start 'The Blind Banker'!"_

Food materialized in front of each of them as the words disappeared off the screen. Each meal was perfectly tailored to each person, and they eagerly dug in.

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	10. 1x2 Part 1 - The Blind Banker

When they finished eating, it must’ve only been half an hour at the very most, but…for some reason it felt longer. Far longer. Did time move faster while they were captive? Slower? Did it just stop moving altogether?

“I think we’re ready to start _episode two_ as our captive is calling it. Which case was this again?” Lestrade asked, turning to John, who was placing his knife and fork down on the plate – all of which disappeared the second he let go.

“The Blind Banker case,” he replied. “Sherlock and I were investigating a secret Chinese smuggling ring. There was a circus and spray paint, and I had to go to court… Well, you’ll see.” He said, stopping himself before he got too far into the memories of his and Sherlock’s second big case.

On that note, they all turned to the television and the screen changed, lighting to show the museum where the story must’ve started.

**In the National Antiquities Museum, an ancient Chinese clay tea set has been arranged on a tray. Oriental flute music is playing gently. A young Chinese woman, Soo Lin Yao, takes a large pinch of tea leaves from a bowl and sprinkles them into a clay teapot before pouring water on top of them. A group of children and a few adults are watching her demonstration.**

John stared, interested, at the screen. “I guess we’re seeing some exposition because I’ve never known about this. I guess that makes sense because we’re here to learn every detail, so we know exactly what happened, and it’s not just all in our heads.”

“Hey, this is about us learning the inner workings of the freak’s mind, do you think _he_ knew about this?” Donovan asked.

“I doubt it,” Lestrade replied, “Not even _he_ can know everything.”

**SOO LIN: The great artisans say the more the teapot is used, the more beautiful it becomes.**

**She has deliberately overfilled the pot so that when she picks up the lid and gently presses it down into place, water spills out over the sides of the pot. Now she picks up a small jug and pours more liquid over the top of the pot.**

**SOO LIN: The pot is seasoned by repeatedly pouring tea over the surface. The deposit left on the clay creates this beautiful patina over time.**

**She holds up the wet teapot to show her audience how the pot is shining.**

**SOO LIN: For some pots, the clay has been burnished by tea made over four hundred years ago.**

*****

**Sometime later, the visitors have left and Soo Lin is gently drying and dusting off the tea set with a brush.**

**TANNOY ANNOUNCEMENT: This museum will be closing in ten minutes.**

**A young English male employee, Andy Galbraith, walks over. He stands behind her and watches as she carefully packs the tea set into a box.**

**ANDY (in a joking tone): Four hundred years old, and they’re lettin’ you use it to make yourself a brew!**

**SOO LIN (not turning around): Some things aren’t supposed to sit behind glass. They’re made to be touched; to be handled.**

“Well, she clearly doesn’t like him the way he seems to like her. Take the hint,” Anderson said, trying to sound nonchalant, but by the end, his eyes dropped as if remembering how his own marriage turned out. Since he’d lost his job at the New Scotland Yard, everything had gone downhill for him.

**She turns and looks at him. Andy – who clearly has a massive crush on her – looks back at her all doe-eyed. She turns back to the box and frowns.**

**SOO LIN: These pots need attention. (She holds up a dry-looking pot with no shine on it.) The clay is cracking.**

**ANDY: Well, I can’t see how a tiny splash of tea’s gonna help.**

**He grins nervously.**

**SOO LIN: Sometimes you have to look hard at something to see its value.**

**She puts down the teapot as Andy steels himself to say something. Just as he opens his mouth she lifts up another pot to show him.**

**SOO LIN: See? This one shines a little brighter.**

**Andy braces himself.**

**ANDY: I don’t suppose ... um, I mean, I don’t suppose that you ... you wanna have a drink? (He grimaces.) Not tea, obviously. Um, in a pub, with me, tonight ... umm.**

“Well, he pushed himself to ask. Got to give him credit for that at least,” Molly whispered, as if she wanted the tangible words in her mouth, but didn’t want anyone to hear. If they did, though, anyone could’ve inferred that she was thinking about how she’d rarely gotten herself to ask Sherlock out on a date in a way that made it obvious to the detective.

**Soo Lin puts down the pot, not looking at him.**

**SOO LIN: You wouldn’t like me all that much.**

**ANDY: Couldn’t I maybe decide that for myself?**

**She hesitates, but then briefly glances towards him.**

**SOO LIN: I can’t. I’m sorry. Please stop asking.**

**She closes the box.**

*****

**A little later, the main entrance doors to the museum are closed for the night and most of the lights are turned off. Down in the basement archive, Soo Lin is in one of the stacks, presumably putting her equipment away. There’s a noise nearby.**

**SOO LIN (calling out): Is that Security?**

**There’s no response, and after an anxious pause, she walks out of the stacks and looks around.**

“Oh, that doesn’t look good,” Mrs. Hudson said.

**SOO LIN: Hello?**

**To her right, a tall and narrow object is covered with a white sheet that billows in a breeze. She nervously walks closer to the object, then hesitantly takes hold of the sheet and pulls it down. Whatever she sees underneath makes her face fill with horror and fear.**

*****

**SUPERMARKET. John Watson is standing at one of two self-service checkouts, scanning items from his basket. A short queue has formed behind him. John scans another item.**

**AUTOMATED VOICE: Unexpected item in bagging area. Please try again.**

Laughter echoed throughout the room. Of course, John’s struggling at the supermarket was an excellent source of comedy, especially since the group was still sad about seeing the deceased detective at work as he solved his mysteries.

*****

**221B BAKER STREET. In the living room of the flat, Sherlock Holmes is under attack from a heavily robed figure whose face and head are almost completely shrouded in a variety of scarves. As the attacker slashes at him with a curved sword, Sherlock backs up carefully and ducks this way and that to avoid the blows. The man backs Sherlock up as far as the sofa and takes another swing at him. Ducking under the sword, Sherlock drops onto the sofa in a sitting position. The attacker lifts his sword above his head with both hands and Sherlock raises a leg, kicking hard at the man’s chest and shoving him backwards. As the man stumbles back across the room, Sherlock gets to his feet and takes an all-important moment to straighten his jacket before charging across the room towards the man.**

*****

**In the supermarket, John holds a lettuce in a plastic bag and moves it slowly across the scanner in an attempt to get it to read the barcode.**

**AUTOMATED VOICE: Item not scanned. Please try again.**

**John straightens up, staring at the device in exasperation.**

**JOHN: D’you think you could keep your voice down?**

“John, you’re talking to a robot like it can understand you,” Molly pointed out with concern laced in her voice.

*****

**In the flat, the attacker has his sword held horizontally in both hands and is pushing Sherlock backwards into the kitchen. With a tight grip on the man’s wrists, Sherlock falls back onto the kitchen table and the man follows him down, trying to press the edge of the blade into Sherlock’s throat. Grimacing with the effort, Sherlock pushes the man’s right wrist upwards to keep the blade from cutting him. The point of the sword begins to dig into the table to Sherlock’s right. Sherlock raises his left leg and knees the man in the side several times and, as this begins to weaken the man’s grip, Sherlock forces himself upwards again. The sword tip gouges a long slash across the top of the table.**

*****

**In the supermarket, John has, at last, got everything scanned and has inserted his credit or debit card into the chip-and-PIN machine. He types in his PIN and waits.**

**AUTOMATED VOICE: Card not authorized. Please use an alternative method of payment.**

**JOHN: Yes, all right! I’ve got it!**

**AUTOMATED VOICE: Card not authorized. Please use an alternative method of payment.**

**The man in the queue behind him has already picked up his own basket in expectation of getting to the scanner soon. John reaches towards his back pocket but apparently realizes that he has no other way of paying.**

**JOHN: Got nothing.**

**He points at the machine.**

**JOHN: Right, keep it. Keep that.**

**As the man behind him looks on in surprise, John angrily walks away, abandoning his shopping and quite possibly his card as well.**

“You couldn’t figure it out, so you just gave up? Seriously?” Donovan asked in surprise.

John shrugged. He remembered that day quite clearly and vowed to never be humiliated by a robot again after that. After that, he made it a habit to go to the cashier checkouts, no matter how long the lines.

*****

**In the flat, Sherlock is on his feet again and the fight has moved back into the living room. The attacker takes another swing at Sherlock who ducks underneath the sword and then quickly straightens up, pointing directly over the man’s shoulder.**

“And to think that I thought Sherlock never got out of bed that morning! I believed he’d been lazing about!” John declared, his eyebrows shot high up on his forehead.

**SHERLOCK: Look!**

“That poor sod. How’d he fall for that old trick?” Lestrade said, shaking his head.

**The man has already half-turned in that direction with the swing of his sword and is also perhaps momentary distracted by their reflections in the mirror over the fireplace behind him. Sherlock takes advantage and swings a powerful uppercut to the man’s chin, and the man drops unconscious into Sherlock’s armchair. Sherlock straightens up and immediately checks his reflection in the mirror, straightening his jacket and cuffs and then dusting himself down. He looks down at the man with disdain, as if indignant that he messed his suit up.**

*****

**Sometime later Sherlock is sitting in his armchair calmly reading a book. There is no sign of the attacker. John walks up the stairs and into the living room, stopping just inside the room and looking around as if he suspects that something has happened in his absence, but he can’t tell what.**

**SHERLOCK (not looking up): You took your time.**

**JOHN: Yeah, I didn’t get the shopping.**

**SHERLOCK (looking indignantly over the top of his book): What? Why not?**

**JOHN (tetchily): Because I had a row, in the shop, with a chip-and-PIN machine.**

**SHERLOCK (lowering his book a little): You ... you had a row with a machine?**

“I think that’s one of the only things that dear Sherlock never understood,” Mrs. Hudson, “John’s unhealthy relationship with the shopping.”

**JOHN: Sort of. It sat there, and I shouted abuse. Have you got cash?**

**Sherlock holds back his amused smile and nods towards the kitchen.**

**SHERLOCK: Take my card.**

**John walks towards the kitchen where Sherlock’s wallet is lying on the table, but before he gets there he turns back to his flatmate indignantly.**

**JOHN: You could always go yourself, you know. You’ve been sitting there all morning. You’ve not even moved since I left.**

“I can’t believe I said that…” John mumbled.

**Sherlock briefly flashes back in his mind to a moment in the fight when he ducked under a swing from the attacker’s sword. He tries to look nonchalant as he turns the page of his book while John picks up the wallet from the table and rummages through it for a suitable payment card.**

**JOHN: And what happened about that case you were offered – the Jaria Diamond?**

**SHERLOCK: Not interested.**

**Using a piece of paper as a bookmark he shuts the book with a loud snap and only then realizes that the attacker’s sword is still lying underneath his chair in plain view. He quickly slams a foot down onto the end and slides his foot and the sword further back to get the weapon out of sight.**

**SHERLOCK (firmly): I sent them a message.**

**Flashback to his uppercut that ended the fight.**

**John has now found a card he can use but pauses to bend over to look more closely at the new long narrow gouge in the top of the table. He sighs and runs his finger along the cut, rubbing at it in case it’s just a mark that can be removed.**

**JOHN (in an exasperated whisper): Ugh, Holmes.**

“Just for argument’s sake… What’d you think that was?” Anderson asked curiously.

John shrugged. “I dunno. An experiment?”

Sally scoffed. “Could’a been, yeah. With everything that the freak got up to.”

**Looking across to his flatmate, he tuts pointedly. Sherlock shakes his head innocently. John turns and leaves the room, trotting down the stairs as Sherlock smirks.**

*****

**Later, John staggers up the stairs carrying several bags of shopping.**

**JOHN (sarcastically): Don’t worry about me. I can manage.**

**Sherlock, who is now sitting at the dining table with his hands folded in front of his mouth as he looks at a laptop screen, barely glances across to John, who sighs heavily as he carries the bags into the kitchen and dumps them onto the table. Sherlock is engrossed in reading an e-mail from someone called Sebastian Wilkes. The full e-mail isn’t shown but what text can be seen reveals that Sherlock and Sebastian haven’t seen each other for a long time. Sebastian has heard that Sherlock is now a consultant – or a consulting detective – and tells him that “There’s been an ‘incident’ at the bank” which he hopes that Sherlock may be able to sort out. He asks him to drop by and says that he’ll be relying on Sherlock’s discretion. John turns around from the kitchen table and frowns when he realizes which piece of equipment Sherlock is looking at.**

**JOHN: Is that my computer?**

**SHERLOCK (starting to type): Of course.**

**JOHN: What?!**

**SHERLOCK: Mine was in the bedroom.**

“Why did he say _the_ bedroom? Couldn’t he just say _my_ , as in _his_?” Anderson asked, narrowing his eyes at the screen, then turning to look at John with similar suspicion.

“I was his flatmate! I didn’t pick his brain!” the latter protested.

**JOHN: What, and you couldn’t be bothered to get up?**

**Sherlock doesn’t reply.**

**JOHN (indignantly): It’s password-protected!**

**SHERLOCK (still typing): In a manner of speaking. Took me less than a minute to guess yours. (He glances up at John.) Not exactly Fort Knox.**

**JOHN (annoyed): Right, thank you.**

“Take the compliment, John. He said less than a minute, not two seconds! Besides, you two live together, of course, he’ll know what to guess,” Lestrade said.

**He walks over and slams the lid down. Sherlock pulls his fingers out of the way just in time. John takes the laptop across the room and puts it down on the floor beside his armchair as he sits down. Sherlock clasps his hands in the prayer position in front of his mouth as he props his elbows on the table and looks thoughtful. John picks up a small pile of letters from the table beside his chair and frowns.**

**JOHN: Oh.**

**He flicks through the letters, at least one of which appears to be a red bill that needs urgent paying. He shakes his head in resignation.**

**JOHN: Need to get a job.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, dull.**

**He seems to be lost in thought. John puts the letters back onto the table and looks across at his friend for a moment, but then glances at the bills again and awkwardly sits forward.**

**JOHN: Listen, um ... if you’d be able to lend me some ...**

**He stops when he realizes that Sherlock appears to be a world of his own.**

**JOHN: Sherlock, are you listening?**

**SHERLOCK (without looking around): I need to go to the bank.**

**He gets up and heads towards the stairs, taking his coat from the hook on the door as he goes. John frowns, then jumps up and hurries to join him.**

“At least his coat was undamaged, what with that horrid man flashing his sword around willy-nilly,” Mrs. Hudson said, bemused.

*****

**TOWER 42, OLD BROAD STREET.**

**Sherlock leads John through revolving glass doors which lead to Shad Sanderson Bank. John stares at the impressive foyer as he follows his friend.**

**JOHN: Yes, when you said we were going to the bank ...**

**He gets onto an escalator behind Sherlock while the detective observes everything around him, especially the security systems which have to have cards swiped across electronic readers in order to open glass barrier gates. The boys reach the top of the escalator and Sherlock walks over to the reception desk and addresses one of the receptionists.**

**SHERLOCK: Sherlock Holmes.**

*****

**A little later the boys have been shown into Sebastian Wilkes’ office and now he walks in and grins at Sherlock.**

**SEBASTIAN: Sherlock Holmes.**

**SHERLOCK: Sebastian.**

**They shake hands, Sebastian clasping Sherlock’s hand in both of his own.**

“Oh, I hate it when people shake your hand like that,” Lestrade grumbled under his breath.

**SEBASTIAN: Howdy, buddy. How long’s it been? Eight years since I last clapped eyes on you?**

**Sherlock looks back at him with only marginally disguised dislike. Sebastian turns to look at John.**

**SHERLOCK: This is my friend, John Watson.**

**SEBASTIAN (latching on to the emphasized word): Friend?**

“Aw, no wonder Sherlock doesn’t have friends if no one thinks he can,” Molly cried, staring at her long-time crush with sorrow in her eyes.

**JOHN: Colleague.**

**SEBASTIAN: Right.**

**They shake hands, Sebastian looking at John curiously.**

**SEBASTIAN: Right.**

**He throws a brief look at Sherlock as if saying, ‘Didn’t think you had a friend!’ Grinning unpleasantly, he momentarily scratches his neck and Sherlock’s gaze falls on his wristwatch. Sebastian turns away, John pursing his lips as if he has taken an instant dislike to the man; either that or he’s regretting correcting Sherlock.**

“How did he know that guy again? Doesn’t look like the freak’s usual crowd,” Sally pointed out.

“They went to uni together,” John said quickly.

**SEBASTIAN: Well, grab a pew. D’you need anything? Coffee, water?**

**Sherlock shakes his head.**

**JOHN: No.**

**SEBASTIAN: No? (To his secretary) We’re all sorted here, thanks.**

**As the secretary leaves the room, Sebastian sits down at his desk and the other two sit side by side opposite him.**

**SHERLOCK: So, you’re doing well. You’ve been abroad a lot.**

**SEBASTIAN: Well, some.**

**SHERLOCK: Flying all the way 'round the world twice in a month?**

Lestrade pulled out his wallet. “Alright, fifty quid to anyone who can guess how he figured it out with this guy,” he challenged.

John opened his mouth to answer, but he was cut off.

“Not you, John. You already know.”

John closed his mouth and refocused on the screen. Sally, Anderson, and Molly all looked closely at the images, hoping to figure it out. Lestrade did the same, hoping to figure it out so he wouldn’t have to eat his shoe and pay up. Figuratively, of course.

**John frowns in confusion but Sebastian just laughs and points at Sherlock.**

**SEBASTIAN: Right. You’re doing that thing.**

**He looks at John.**

**SEBASTIAN: We were at uni together. This guy here had a trick he used to do.**

**SHERLOCK (quietly): It’s not a trick.**

**SEBASTIAN (to John): He could look at you and tell you your whole life story.**

**JOHN: Yes, I’ve seen him do it.**

**SEBASTIAN: Put the wind up everybody. We hated him.**

**Sherlock turns his head away and looks down, his face momentarily filling with pain.**

**SEBASTIAN: You’d come down to breakfast in the Formal Hall and this freak would know you’d been shagging the previous night.**

“That guy called him a freak, too? How many horrid people are there?” Molly asked, scandalized. Sally glared at her, but the former was focused on Mycroft, hoping for answers. The detective’s older brother didn’t look at her; he shook his head.

**SHERLOCK (quietly): I simply observed.**

**SEBASTIAN: Go on, enlighten me. Two trips a month, flying all the way around the world – you’re quite right. How could you tell?**

**Sherlock opens his mouth, but Sebastian continues speaking.**

**SEBASTIAN (smugly): You’re gonna tell me there was, um, a stain on my tie from some special kind of ketchup you can only buy in Manhattan.**

“Well, that’s just stupid! How could you tell he’d gone around _twice_ from that? Besides, he could’ve just gone to one place!” Lestrade said, scoffing at the idea of the banker.

**John smiles.**

**SHERLOCK: No, I ...**

**SEBASTIAN (talking over him): Maybe it was the mud on my shoes!**

“That seems like a fair guess,” Anderson said, “But it wouldn’t explain much, just like his ketchup theory.”

**Sherlock simply looks back at him for a moment before speaking.**

**SHERLOCK: I was just chatting with your secretary outside. She told me.**

Groans echoed throughout the room.

“Don’t worry,” John’s voice interrupted. “He lied.”

“Why would he do that?” Sally asked.

“Maybe,” John replied sharply, “He didn’t want to seem like a _freak_ for once. It hurt him, you know. He wasn’t as cold as everyone thought.”

Sally went silent.

**John frowns round at him, confused by such an ‘ordinary’ explanation. Sebastian laughs humourlessly and Sherlock smiles back at him with an equal lack of humour. Sebastian claps his hands together, then becomes more serious.**

**SEBASTIAN: I’m glad you could make it over. We’ve had a break-in.**

**He leads them across the trading floor towards another door.**

**SEBASTIAN: Sir William’s office – the bank’s former Chairman. The room’s been left here like a sort of memorial. Someone broke in late last night.**

**JOHN: What did they steal?**

**SEBASTIAN: Nothing. Just left a little message.**

**He holds his security card against the reader by the door to unlock it. Inside, hanging on the plain white wall behind the large desk is a framed painted portrait of a man in a suit – presumably the late Sir William Shad himself. On the wall to the left of the portrait, someone has sprayed what looks like a graffiti ‘tag’ in yellow paint. The tag looks vaguely like a number 8 but with the top of the number left open, and above it is an almost horizontal straight line. Across the eyes of the portrait itself, another almost horizontal straight line has been sprayed. Perhaps because of the texture of the paper or perhaps because the ‘artist’ oversprayed the line, the yellow paint has run trails down the painting. Sebastian leads the way towards the desk and then steps aside to allow Sherlock a clear view of the wall. John moves to stand on the other side of Sebastian, who looks at Sherlock expectantly while the detective stares in fixed concentration at the graffiti.**

**Later, they’re back in Sebastian’s office and he is showing the boys the security footage of the office from the previous night.**

**SEBASTIAN: Sixty seconds apart.**

**He flicks back and forth between the still photograph taken at 23:34:01 which shows the paint on the wall and on the portrait, and a minute earlier – 23:33:01 – when the wall and portrait were still clean.**

**SEBASTIAN: So, someone came up here in the middle of the night, splashed paint around, then left within a minute.**

**SHERLOCK: How many ways into that office?**

**SEBASTIAN: Well, that’s where this gets really interesting.**

“Why’d it change? I want to know what he was going to say!” Anderson protested.

“It really wasn’t all that interesting. He was overexaggerating,” John replied blandly.

**Back in the reception area, Sebastian shows them a screen on a computer that has a layout of the trading floor and its surrounding offices. Each indicated door has a light against it showing its security status.**

**SEBASTIAN: Every door that opens in this bank, it gets logged right here. Every walk-in cupboard, every toilet.**

**SHERLOCK: That door didn’t open last night.**

**SEBASTIAN: There’s a hole in our security. Find it and we’ll pay you – five figures.**

**He reaches into the breast pocket of his jacket and takes out a cheque.**

**SEBASTIAN: This is an advance. Tell me how he got in, there’s a bigger one on its way.**

**SHERLOCK: I don’t need an incentive, Sebastian.**

“This just proves how much of a loon the freak was. Not taking the money!” Sally cried, throwing her hands toward the screen.

**He walks away. John watches him go, then turns to Sebastian.**

**JOHN: He’s, uh, he’s kidding you, obviously.**

**He holds out his hand.**

**JOHN: Sh-shall I look after that for him?**

**Sebastian hands him the cheque.**

Then, John groaned. “God, why’d I take the cheque? Why couldn’t I just give it to Sherlock immediately?”

**JOHN: Thanks.**

**He looks at the figure on the cheque and shakes his head in disbelief that this is only the advance.**

*****

**Sherlock has returned to Sir William’s office and is taking photographs on his mobile phone of the graffiti. Once he has taken several pictures he turns around, the symbols still floating in front of his mind’s eye. He looks to his right where the floor-to-ceiling windows show an impressive view of the nearby Swiss Re Tower, better known as ‘The Gherkin.’ Frowning and looking away in thought for a moment, he then walks over to the windows and pulls up the blinds which are covering what is revealed to be a door onto a small balcony. Opening the door, he goes out onto the balcony and looks at the spectacular view over London before looking down at the very long drop to the ground hundreds of feet below. Viewers who’ve seen Season 2 whimper quietly. Sherlock looks along the balcony and bites his lip thoughtfully before heading back inside.**

*****

**Shortly afterwards, Sherlock is dancing. On the trading floor, he has ducked down behind a desk and now rises slowly upright, staring in concentration at the glass doorway to Sir William’s office.**

“He looks like an imbecile,” Sally said.

John made a sort of…growl in the back of his throat. This sound caused Sally to gulp.

**He then ducks sideways and hurries across the floor, to the bemusement of an extra and other traders. Sherlock continues to scamper around the floor, frequently scurrying sideways and ducking down behind desks before popping up again and peering at the doorway. He dances across the floor again and twirls around a column before backing towards an office on the other side of the floor. Stopping in that doorway, he wiggles about, his eyes still fixed on Sir William’s office, then turns and goes into the office and heads to the other side of the desk. Standing directly behind the chair of whoever works in that room, he sees that he has a clear view of the top of the painting and the new yellow slash across the portrait’s eyes. He dances sideways across the room before coming back to his previous position, confirming that this is the only place on the trading floor from where the damaged portrait can be seen. Looking around the room for some identification, he eventually goes to the door where two signs are attached to the outside, one showing that this is the office of the Hong Kong Desk Head, and the sign above it, giving the name of that person – Edward Van Coon. He slides the top sign out of its holder and heads off.**

*****

**Not long afterwards, Sherlock is leading John back towards the escalators.**

**JOHN: Two trips around the world this month. You didn’t ask his secretary; you said that just to irritate him.**

“And you knew that because you were with him,” Lestrade said with a sigh. “Well, we didn’t know if anything else happened while you were waiting to see Sebastian, but I guess that makes sense. I thought it was a bit too simple for Sherlock.”

John shrugged and smiled. “Any other guesses?”

The four players looked at him helplessly. “Not a clue,” Anderson admitted, while the others remained quiet.

**Sherlock smiles but doesn’t respond.**

**JOHN: How did you know?**

The four of them leaned forward.

**SHERLOCK: Did you see his watch?**

**A brief flashback to Sherlock looking at Sebastian’s wrist while he scratched his neck.**

**JOHN: His watch?**

**SHERLOCK: The time was right, but the date was wrong. Said two days ago. Crossed the dateline twice but he didn’t alter it.**

**JOHN: Within a month? How’d you get that part?**

**SHERLOCK: New Breitling.**

**Flashback close-up on the watch showing its brand name: Breitling Chronometer Crosswind.**

**SHERLOCK: Only came out this February.**

**JOHN: Okay. So d’you think we should sniff around here for a bit longer?**

**SHERLOCK: Got everything I need to know already, thanks.**

**JOHN: Hmm?**

**SHERLOCK: That graffiti was a message for someone at the bank working on the trading floors. We find the intended recipient and ...**

**He deliberately trails off, allowing John to finish the sentence.**

**JOHN: ... they’ll lead us to the person who sent it.**

**SHERLOCK: Obvious.**

“Is that when you started getting better, John? At solving cases, I mean?” Lestrade asked curious eyes on the screen.

“Yeah, I guess so. And only our second case.”

**JOHN: Well, there’s three hundred people up there. Who was it meant for?**

**SHERLOCK: Pillars.**

**JOHN: What?**

**SHERLOCK: Pillars and the screens. Very few places you can see that graffiti from. That narrows the field considerably. And of course, the message was left at eleven thirty-four last night. That tells us a lot.**

**JOHN: Does it?**

**Sherlock continues talking as he and John go through the revolving doors and out onto the street.**

**SHERLOCK: Traders come to work at all hours. Some trade with Hong Kong in the middle of the night. That message was intended for someone who came in at midnight.**

**He holds up the name card to show John.**

**SHERLOCK: Not many Van Coons in the phonebook.**

**He spots what he immediately needs and calls out loudly.**

**SHERLOCK: Taxi!**

The screen went black once more and all of the viewers sat back.

“The wait was long, but I guess it was worth it in the end. We’ve started the second case,” Molly said, heaving a sigh. “Who knew watching Sherlock work firsthand is so interesting? B-besides John, of course,” she stuttered as an afterthought.

“I guess now we’ll just have to wait for the next part to start. How long do you reckon we’ll sit here for this time?” John asked. He looked around at the others.

New words appeared on the screen: _“Sorry for that last wait…but I was busy! This time you guys just talk about it and we’ll keep going really soon! Let me know how you’re liking the inside scoop on your detective’s detective-ness! I do hope that all of my effort has not gone to waste.”_

“Guess not. It’s pretty interesting,” Anderson said, answering the television. It just didn’t seem that strange anymore. Especially after a few more words appeared under the first set, reading: _“Thanks, Anderson! At least someone appreciates me!”_

“It’s not just him, you know,” Lestrade said. “I have enjoyed seeing the old chap again, too. I just hope that after this is over, we’ll be able to put all this behind us. It’s great therapy, I must admit.”

 _“Glad to hear it!”_ the screen said.

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	11. 1x1 Part 2 - The Blind Banker

The next part of the episode began almost immediately. The screen lightened to show the two investigators as they walked up to an apartment building after leaving the bank.

**After a taxi ride, they are outside a block of flats and Sherlock presses the door buzzer marked ‘Van Coon’. Releasing it, he looks into the security camera above the buzzers, waits a couple of seconds, then presses the buzzer again. There’s no response.**

**JOHN: So, what do we do now? Sit here and wait for him to come back?**

“Oh, you naïve, naïve little man, John. Sherlock’s already figured it out. You’ll have to go _into_ his house, obviously. Another way,” Molly said with a teasing smile.

**Sherlock has looked at the number of buzzers on the wall and steps back to look up the front of the building, presumably calculating the layout of the flats inside. He comes back to the wall and looks at John triumphantly.**

**SHERLOCK: Just moved in.**

**JOHN: What?**

“You used that word a lot when you first met Sherlock,” Anderson said with a snicker.

“Shut it, we all did,” Molly scolded the former forensic scientist.

Anderson obediently shut his mouth. He turned his fear-filled gaze back to the television.

**SHERLOCK: The floor above. New label.**

**He points to another buzzer which has a handwritten label saying, ‘Wintle’.**

“You boys were sure lucky that someone just moved in,” Mrs. Hudson commented.

“Yeah, I guess we were.”

**JOHN: Could have just replaced it.**

“Nobody does that, John,” Lestrade said.

**Sherlock presses that buzzer, then looks at John again.**

**SHERLOCK: No-one ever does that.**

“See?” Lestrade asked.

“Well if the freak says it, it’s gotta be true,” Sally grumbled.

**A woman’s voice comes over the intercom.**

  1. **WINTLE: Hello?**



**Sherlock turns to the camera and smiles, putting on an ‘I’m just a normal harmless human being’ voice.**

**SHERLOCK: Hi! Um, I live in the flat just below you. I-I don’t think we’ve met.**

“You may not like the man,” Lestrade said, casting his eyes sidelong at Sally, “But you have to admit, he’s a good actor when he wants to be.”

**He grins prettily into the camera.**

“Wow, the freak actually looks human! Guess you’re right about his acting Lestrade,” Sally observed. At this point, her comment didn’t earn her any glares. No one could stop her from calling Sherlock a freak, no matter how much they wanted to.

**1\. WINTLE (over intercom): No, well, uh, I’ve just moved in.**

**Sherlock turns to throw a brief ‘told you so’ glance at John, then turns back to the camera.**

**SHERLOCK: Actually, I’ve just locked my keys in my flat.**

**He grimaces and bites his lip plaintively.**

**1\. WINTLE: D’you want me to buzz you in?**

**SHERLOCK: Yeah. And can I use your balcony?**

**MS. WINTLE: What?**

“That must’ve been so confusing for her,” Molly said, deep sympathy in her voice.

*****

**Not long afterwards, Sherlock has flirted his way into the lucky Ms. Wintle’s flat and is standing on her balcony. He looks over the side to the ground several floors below. Luckily for him, he is on the top floor where the flats have balconies which only run halfway across the front of the flat, whereas the floor below has full-width balconies.**

“Good thing for that, or I’m not sure how this would’ve worked,” John said.

**He climbs over the side of Ms. Wintle’s balcony and drops down onto the one outside Van Coon’s flat. Taking another look over the edge, he turns and reaches for the handle of the door and finds that it is unlocked, which is a jolly good thing, or he’d still be sitting there now waiting for Lestrade to turn up with many, many colleagues who would want to take photographs of him stranded out there.**

“Just think,” Molly said, “What if the door was locked?”

“Why would someone lock their balcony door? To keep out the pigeons?” Sally scowled at the pathologist.

“I dunno,” Lestrade replied, “If someone was trying to kill me, I would definitely lock my balcony. Someone might try just what Sherlock did, especially if I had such naïve neighbours.”

**He goes inside and walks across the very elegantly decorated living room. This is clearly the apartment of a wealthy person, with white leather furniture, shiny black tables and minimal clutter. He looks at everything as he goes through the room, and glances at a pile of books on a table. He walks through the kitchen, looking at the work surface before opening the fridge to reveal that it’s full of nothing other than bottles of champagne. The front door to the flat buzzes.**

**JOHN (from the other side of the door): Sherlock.**

**Sherlock moves into the hall.**

**JOHN (from outside): Sherlock, are you okay?**

Lestrade scoffed. “Yeah, he’s fine.”

**Sherlock opens the door to the small bathroom and glances inside at the few items on the shelf opposite. He shuts the door and walks to a larger door which is closed. He tries it and finds that it’s locked.**

**JOHN (from outside): Yeah, any time you feel like letting me in.**

“Oh, poor John!” Mrs. Hudson cried, though there was an amused smile on her face.

“Yeah, yeah. Very funny, Mrs. Hudson,” John said with a sigh.

**Sherlock turns side-on and shoulder-charges the door and it bursts open. He walks inside and finds a man in a suit and overcoat lying on his back on the bed, dead. There is a pistol on the floor, and the man has a small bullet hole in his right temple.**

*****

**Later, the police have been called and a photographer is taking pictures of Van Coon’s body lying on the bed. A forensics officer is dusting for fingerprints on the nearby mirror, and distant voices suggest that other forensics officers are elsewhere in the flat. Sherlock has taken off his coat and is in the bedroom putting on a pair of latex gloves. John stands beside him.**

**JOHN: D’you think he’d lost a lot of money? I mean, suicide is pretty common among city boys.**

“Obviously not suicide, John. Then how would the graffiti tie into it?” Lestrade asked.

**SHERLOCK: We don’t know that it was suicide.**

“No, but he knows that it wasn’t,” John grumbled.

**JOHN: Come on. The door was locked from the inside; you had to climb down the balcony.**

**Sherlock has squatted down by a suitcase on the floor near the bed and has opened the lid and is looking at the contents.**

**SHERLOCK: Been away three days, judging by the laundry.**

**He sees that there’s a deep indentation in the clothing inside the case, then straightens up and looks at John.**

**SHERLOCK: Look at the case. There was something tightly packed inside it.**

**JOHN: Thanks – I’ll take your word for it.**

**SHERLOCK: Problem?**

**JOHN: Yeah, I’m not desperate to root around some bloke’s dirty underwear.**

“Well, it doesn’t seem like Sherlock minds,” Anderson pointed out.

“Anything to find his clues,” Molly added, wistfully. She’d always admired Sherlock’s dedication to his job, despite it becoming a little too much at times.

**SHERLOCK (walking to the foot of the bed): Those symbols at the bank – the graffiti. Why were they put there?**

**JOHN: What, some sort of code?**

**SHERLOCK: Obviously.**

**Having looked closely at Van Coon’s legs – or possibly his shoes – he moves up and carefully opens the man’s jacket to look at his inside pockets.**

**SHERLOCK: Why were they painted? If you want to communicate, why not use e-mail?**

“I’m getting the feeling that an email wouldn’t quite get the message across for this one,” Lestrade said, giving John a strange look.

**JOHN: Well, maybe he wasn’t answering.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh good. You follow.**

“Well, I don’t,” Anderson said.

**JOHN: No.**

**Sherlock throws him a look before moving on to examine Van Coon’s hands.**

**SHERLOCK: What kind of a message would everyone try to avoid?**

“Come on, John. You can figure this one out,” Molly encouraged the little John of the television as he furrowed his eyebrows, trying to think.

**John frowns in confusion.**

**SHERLOCK: What about this morning – those letters you were looking at?**

**JOHN: Bills.**

**Sherlock gently prises open Van Coon’s mouth and pulls out a small black origami flower from inside. Air hisses out from the dead man’s lungs.**

**SHERLOCK: Yes. He was being threatened.**

“Well, that much is obvious,” Anderson said. There was a smile on his face like he was glad that he finally understood.

**MAN’s VOICE (outside the bedroom): Bag this up, will you ...**

“Well, who is that, now? Wouldn’t Lestrade be in charge?” Molly asked. “he would be the one to say those things, right? Or Sally?”

“Not necessarily. We have more than one DI, you know,” Lestrade replied kindly.

“Not one that matters at this point,” Molly said.

**JOHN (looking closely at the paper flower as Sherlock lifts an evidence bag to put the flower into it): Not by the gas board.**

**MAN’s VOICE: ... and see if you can get prints off this glass.**

**The man – a young, plain-clothed police officer – walks into the bedroom. Sherlock turns and walks towards him.**

**SHERLOCK: Ah, Sergeant. We haven’t met.**

“This was another guy that Sherlock got wrong,” John said, snickering behind his hand.

The others turned to him in surprise, “What?”

“Oh, you’ll see,” John said.

**He offers his hand to shake. The young man puts his hands on his hips.**

**MAN: Yeah, I know who you are; and I’d prefer it if you didn’t tamper with any of the evidence.**

**Lowering his hand, Sherlock gives the evidence bag to the officer and turns his best stroppy look on him.**

**SHERLOCK: I’ve phoned Lestrade. Is he on his way?**

**MAN: He’s busy. I’m in charge. And it’s not Sergeant; it’s Detective Inspector. Dimmock.**

“Wow, he looks way too young to even be in the police force, let alone advance to DI so quickly,” Lestrade pointed out.

**Sherlock looks at him in, then turns and shares his surprised look with John. Dimmock walks out of the room. The boys follow him into the living room where he hands the bag to one of the forensics team.**

**DIMMOCK: We’re obviously looking at a suicide.**

“Obviously,” John said, “Not.”

**JOHN: That does seem the only explanation of all the facts.**

**Sherlock takes off the latex gloves and turns back to him.**

**SHERLOCK: Wrong. It’s one possible explanation of some of the facts.**

**He turns to Dimmock.**

**SHERLOCK: You’ve got a solution that you like, but you’re choosing to ignore anything you see that doesn’t comply with it.**

“That’s the problem with most people these days, I’m afraid,” Mycroft said, looking pointedly at Anderson. “They come to a conclusion that seems to fit, and, despite other facts proving it wrong, they decide to ignore them.”

**DIMMOCK: Like?**

**SHERLOCK: The wound was on the right side of his head.**

**DIMMOCK: And?**

**SHERLOCK: Van Coon was left-handed.**

**He goes into an elaborate mime as he demonstrates his point, pretending to try and point a gun to his right temple with his left hand.**

**SHERLOCK: Requires quite a bit of contortion.**

“He has a point. When you look at the way things are positioned around the room, you can tell if someone is right or left-handed. I wonder how Dimmock missed that?” Lestrade inquired.

“What things?” Anderson asked.

“You’ll see. I’m sure Sherlock will explain.”

“He sure loves making others feel stupid, that’s for sure,” Sally mumbled angrily.

**DIMMOCK: Left-handed?**

**SHERLOCK (sarcastically): Oh, I’m amazed you didn’t notice. All you have to do is look around this flat.**

**He points to the table beside the sofa.**

**SHERLOCK: Coffee table on the left-hand side; coffee mug handle pointing to the left. Power sockets: habitually used the ones on the left ...**

**Close-up of a double socket on the wall with a plug in the left-hand socket.**

**SHERLOCK: Pen and paper on the left-hand side of the phone because he picked it up with his right and took down messages with his left. D’you want me to go on?**

**JOHN (tiredly): No, I think you’ve covered it.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, I might as well; I’m almost at the bottom of the list.**

**John nods as if to say, _‘Yeah, I thought you might.’_**

**SHERLOCK (pointing towards the kitchen): There’s a knife on the breadboard with butter on the right side of the blade because he used it with his left.**

**He turns to Dimmock with an impatient look on his face.**

**SHERLOCK: It’s highly unlikely that a left-handed man would shoot himself in the right side of his head.**

“John is left-handed, though he shoots with his right for some odd reason."

**SHERLOCK: Conclusion: someone broke in here and murdered him. Only explanation of all the facts.**

**DIMMOCK: But the gun: why ...**

**SHERLOCK (interrupting): He was waiting for the killer. He’d been threatened.**

**He walks away and starts to put on his scarf, coat and gloves.**

“And that’s it? He’s just going to leave?” Anderson asked.

“Of course, he always does that. Not even explains it all to me,” Lestrade answered. There was a slight tone of annoyance under his words.

**DIMMOCK: What?**

**JOHN: Today at the bank. Sort of a warning.**

“Now all he has to do is figure out the code.”

“Yeah, no, that was a hard one for Sherlock. He didn’t figure it out himself, Molly,” John said.

More surprised looks were sent his way. “Really?”

“Yeah. Well, I mean, he figures out most of it, if you can remember what I put in my blog, but he never got to decoding it all because he lost the book. Soo Lin solved the rest of it for us.”

**SHERLOCK: He fired a shot when his attacker came in.**

**DIMMOCK: And the bullet?**

**SHERLOCK: Went through the open window.**

“That’s convenient,” Sally said.

**DIMMOCK: Oh, come on! What are the chances of that?!**

**SHERLOCK: Wait until you get the ballistics report. The bullet in his brain wasn’t fired from his gun. I guarantee it.**

“Then it must be true. Good thing the freak was there to explain things again,” Sally said sarcastically.

**DIMMOCK: But if his door was locked from the inside, how did the killer get in?**

**SHERLOCK (condescendingly, as he dramatically slams his hand into his glove): Good! You’re finally asking the right questions.**

“That’s one step in the right direction,” Lestrade commented.

**He turns and flounces out. John looks around at Dimmock and then points apologetically towards the departing drama queen before following him.**

*****

**RESTAURANT. Sebastian is having lunch with some clients or work colleagues.**

**SEBASTIAN (laughing): ... and he’s left trying to sort of cut his hair with a fork, which of course can never be done!**

**Sherlock and John walk over to the table.**

**SHERLOCK: It was a threat. That’s what the graffiti meant.**

**SEBASTIAN: I’m kind of in a meeting. Can you make an appointment with my secretary?**

“I think that the murder of one of your employees is more important than any meeting,” Mrs. Hudson said with a sniff. She turned her nose up at the man on the screen.

**SHERLOCK: I don’t think this can wait. Sorry, Sebastian. One of your traders – someone who worked in your office – was killed.**

**SEBASTIAN: What?**

**JOHN: Van Coon. The police are at his flat.**

**SEBASTIAN (shocked): Killed?**

“Yes, that’s what he just said. Do pay attention, Sebastian,” Mycroft said.

**SHERLOCK (sarcastically): Sorry to interfere with everyone’s digestion. Still wanna make an appointment? Would, maybe, nine o’clock at Scotland Yard suit?**

“Like he cares about their digestion,” Sally grumbled.

**Sebastian puts down his glass of water and nervously runs his finger inside his shirt collar.**

*****

**Shortly afterwards, Sebastian and the boys have relocated to the toilets in the restaurant. Sebastian is washing his hands.**

**SEBASTIAN: Harrow; Oxford. Very bright guy. Worked in Asia for a while, so ...**

**JOHN: ... you gave him the Hong Kong accounts.**

**SEBASTIAN (drying his hands on a towel): Lost five mill in a single morning; made it all back a week later. Nerves of steel, Eddie had.**

**JOHN: Who’d wanna kill him?**

“Someone he had a disagreement with, obviously,” Molly guessed.

“That’s some disagreement.” Anderson blanched.

**SEBASTIAN: We all make enemies.**

**JOHN: You don’t all end up with a bullet through your temple.**

**Sebastian’s phone beeps a text alert.**

**SEBASTIAN: Not usually. ’Scuse me.**

**He gets out his phone and looks at the message.**

**SEBASTIAN: It’s my Chairman. The police have been on to him. Apparently, they’re telling him it was a suicide.**

“Oh, Dimmock, why are you spreading false rumours? You heard what Sherlock was saying as you saw the clues! How could you rule out his explanation?”

Sally scoffed. “’Cause the freak’s a fraud, that’s how. He pointed out meaningless garbage to prove the Detective Inspector wrong.”

**SHERLOCK: Well, they’ve got it wrong, Sebastian. He was murdered.**

**SEBASTIAN: Well, I’m afraid they don’t see it like that.**

**SHERLOCK (sternly): Seb.**

**SEBASTIAN: ... and neither does my boss. I hired you to do a job. Don’t get side-tracked.**

**He walks away. John waits until he has left the room, then turns to Sherlock.**

**JOHN: I thought bankers were all supposed to be heartless b*******!**

*****

**EARL’S COURT. NIGHT TIME. An overweight bald man in his early forties is running frantically down the street, a hard-backed book clasped in one hand.**

Anderson stared hard at the screen. “Who’s that, now?”

“Our other victim,” John answered.

“Ah.”

**He looks repeatedly behind him as he runs. Reaching his building, he whimpers as he fumbles with his keys and finally gets the door open. Running upstairs, he unlocks his flat and hurries inside, slamming the door and pushing a bolt across. He scurries up the flight of stairs leading to the main flat, throwing his book onto a pile of other books strewn all the way up the stairs, and runs into his living room. He stops in the middle of the room and then turns around, his face covered with sweat and his face full of terror at the sight which greets him.**

“Did he hear the drum, or is it just our mysterious captor who is adding in the dramatic music once again?” Mycroft asked.

John frowned. “I think he actually hears it, but… I don’t understand how or why the killer would have a drum with him.”

*****

**NATIONAL ANTIQUITIES MUSEUM. The museum’s Director walks across to Andy, who is sitting at a table cleaning an ancient pot.**

**DIRECTOR: I need you to get over to Crispians.**

**She shows him a catalogue.**

**DIRECTOR: Two Ming vases up for auction – Chenghua. Will you appraise them?**

“I never noticed that,” John said, “Those were the vases that the smugglers brought in. Huh.”

**ANDY: Er, er, Soo Lin should go. She’s the expert.**

**DIRECTOR: Soo Lin has resigned her job. I need you.**

**She walks away. Andy turns and looks sadly at Soo Lin’s table behind him.**

“The poor dear,” Mrs. Hudson said, “All he wanted was to impress the girl.”

“He probably thinks that it was his fault. That she left because he asked her to go out with him,” Donovan said. “I would’ve left, at least, if someone like him had asked _me_ out.”

“That’s a little harsh, isn’t it?” Anderson asked.

Sally just glared.

*****

**Later, he is standing outside the front door to Soo Lin’s flat. Her doorbell has a handwritten name tag above it, showing her name – Soo Lin Yao – with a flower drawn in place of the dot over the ‘i’ and a couple of other flowers in the right-hand corners. Andy presses the doorbell, then steps back and looks up to the first-floor windows of the flat which is above a shop called The Lucky Cat. The shop and flat are clearly located in London’s Chinatown. When nobody answers his ring, he rummages in his pockets, takes out an envelope and pen and scribbles a note on the envelope before bending down to the letterbox and pushing it through. He walks away.**

The screen went blank once more, and more words appeared. It was the typical _“That’s all for now!”_ so that they could discuss what they’d discovered.

There wasn’t much that John didn’t remember, except it was quite interesting to see how Soo Lin fit into the case before they’d met her the night she died at her brother’s hand. He wasn’t going to say that, though. He could see the looks of concentration on the others’ faced. Well, not Mycroft’s, which was its usual stoic expression. He’d been quiet for most of their viewing sessions, but John couldn’t really complain. The man’s comments were almost always judging.

“That poor boy, though,” Mrs. Hudson said sympathetically. “He got himself all tangled in a big mess and he doesn’t even know it.”

Anderson sighed. “He should have quit in that chase while he could.” He was obviously thinking about his own failed marriage.

“What else have we found out? Besides the fact that Dimmock hasn’t learned to listen to Sherlock, yet? Despite you thinking he was a fraud, he helped solve so many cases, and, seeing this, we know at least that he didn’t plan these first two himself just for kicks,” Lestrade said, looking pointedly at Anderson and Sally.

“We should probably just wait until we’ve seen it all. I don’t really know what else to say,” Anderson replied.

“Alright. I guess that means we’re ready to move on to the next part.”

The words disappeared from the screen and everyone waited in anticipation for the next part.

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	12. 1x2 Part 3 - The Blind Banker

The screen became lighter until it showed John, sitting in a doctor’s office. In front of him sat a beautiful young woman.

**In a doctor’s surgery, Doctor Sarah Sawyer is reading John’s printed Curriculum Vitae. She looks up at John sitting opposite her.**

**SARAH: Just locum work.**

**JOHN: No, that’s fine.**

**SARAH: You’re, um ... well, you’re a bit over-qualified.**

**JOHN (smiling): Er, I could always do with the money.**

**SARAH: Well, we’ve got two away on holiday this week, and one’s just left to have a baby. Might be a bit mundane for you.**

**JOHN: Er, no; mundane is good sometimes. Mundane works.**

“Well, I guess if you’re going to get a job, mundane work will definitely even out your adventures with Sherlock,” Molly observed. If all their cases were like the ones they’d already seen, then getting a job at a surgery was good for John and his stress levels.

**SARAH (softly): It says here you were a soldier.**

**JOHN: And a doctor.**

“Why does everyone focus on the soldier part? You can be a doctor and be in the army; that’s kind of the point of an _army doctor_!” John sighed in frustration.

**He smiles at her again. Sarah looks down. She clearly fancies him.**

“Is this the first girl you set your eyes on that reciprocated, John?” Lestrade asked.

John didn’t dignify the question with a response, but the slight nod of his head gave Lestrade everything he needed to know.

**SARAH: Anything else you can do?**

**JOHN: I learned the clarinet at school.**

**SARAH: Oh! (She laughs.) Well, I look forward to it!**

**John laughs. She smiles flirtatiously at him.**

*****

**221B. Sherlock has printed out the photographs of the graffiti near and across Sir William’s portrait and has stuck them around the mirror above the fireplace. He is sitting on one of the dining chairs with his back to the dining table. He has his fingers steepled under his chin and is staring at the photos while various symbols in different languages flash in front of his mind’s eye. John walks in from the landing and drops his jacket onto his armchair.**

**SHERLOCK (without looking around): I said, “Could you pass me a pen?”**

“You’ll notice that he does this a lot,” John told the rest of the audience.

“What?” Anderson questioned, “Does what?”

**John looks around the living room as if expecting that Sherlock is talking to someone else.**

**JOHN: What? When?**

**SHERLOCK: ’Bout an hour ago.**

**John sighs.**

**JOHN: Didn’t notice I’d gone out, then.**

“Oh. That.”

**He picks up a pen from the table beside his chair and, without even looking at Sherlock, tosses the pen in his direction. Sherlock lifts his left hand and catches it without looking away from the photographs on the wall. John walks over to the mirror to look more closely at the photos.**

**JOHN: Yeah, I went to see about a job at that surgery.**

**SHERLOCK: How was it?**

**JOHN (absently): It’s great. She’s great.**

**SHERLOCK: Who?**

**JOHN (looking round to him): The job.**

**SHERLOCK: “She”?**

“Why does he notice this kind of stuff with you and Molly? Anyone else and he wouldn’t pick up on it at all,” Anderson asked.

**JOHN: ... It.**

“Nice slip up there, John. Now Sherlock is on to you,” Lestrade said with a chuckle.

“Shut up, Lestrade,” John grumbled.

**Sherlock looks at him suspiciously for a moment, then jerks his head to his right.**

**SHERLOCK: Here, have a look.**

**JOHN: Hmm?**

**He walks over to the table and looks at the web page on the open computer. The lead article on the ‘Online News’ page is headlined, “Ghostly killer leaves a mystery for police.” Next to it is a photograph of the bald man, and the article reads: An intruder who can walk through walls murdered a man in his London apartment last night. Brian Lukis, 41, a freelance journalist from Earl’s Court was found shot in his fourth-floor flat but all his doors and windows were locked and there were no apparent signs of a break-in. A police spokesman said they are still uncertain how the assailant broke in...**

**JOHN: The ‘intruder who can walk through walls.’**

**SHERLOCK: Happened last night. Journalist shot dead in his flat; doors locked, windows bolted from the inside – exactly the same as Van Coon.**

**JOHN (straightening up and looking at his flatmate): God. You think ...**

**SHERLOCK: He’s killed another one.**

“How Sherlock does it is truly amazing,” Molly whispered breathily, watching the screen with intensive interest. “I mean, we’re watching everything – every detail that we need to figure it out, as well as watching it after knowing what happens – and I still can’t figure out what is going on.”

*****

**NEW SCOTLAND YARD. Inspector Dimmock sits at his desk and folds his arms in exasperation as Sherlock stands at the other side of the desk and types onto a laptop.**

**SHERLOCK: Brian Lukis, freelance journalist. Murdered in his flat ...**

**He turns the laptop around to show Dimmock the web page which John was looking at earlier.**

**SHERLOCK: ... doors locked from the inside.**

**JOHN: You’ve gotta admit, it’s similar.**

“Similar? They were killed by the same person! Of course, it’s similar!” Sally exclaimed.

“Well, I had to give him a chance to decide for himself. If Sherlock has taught me anything, it’s that people love to discredit you when you say something, so you have to say it like they have a choice,” John countered.

**Dimmock scowls at the computer.**

**JOHN: Both men killed by someone who can ... (he hesitates momentarily as if unable to believe what he’s about to say but perseveres onwards) ... walk through solid walls.**

**SHERLOCK: Inspector, do you seriously believe that Eddie Van Coon was just another City suicide?**

“Doesn’t seem so,” Anderson said.

**Dimmock squirms, not meeting his eyes. Sherlock looks up, exasperated, and sighs pointedly.**

**SHERLOCK: You have seen the ballistics report, I suppose?**

“That would explain his shiftiness, wouldn’t it?” Mycroft asked rhetorically.

**DIMMOCK (nodding): Mmm.**

**SHERLOCK: And the shot that killed him: was it fired from his own gun?**

**DIMMOCK (reluctantly): No.**

**SHERLOCK: No. So, this investigation might move a bit quicker if you were to take my word as gospel.**

“That is true, but the problem with that is that people don’t believe it when they can’t see it. They need solid proof,” Molly said sadly.

Lestrade nodded along with her comment. “Besides, Dimmock only just met Sherlock, and he needed to know just how good he was at his job.”

**Dimmock looks back at him silently. Sherlock leans forward over the desk and speaks quietly but intensely into his face.**

**SHERLOCK: I’ve just handed you a murder enquiry. (Louder, nodding towards the picture of Lukis on the computer) Five minutes in his flat.**

“If he’s smart, he would let Sherlock have those five minutes,” Anderson said.

*****

**LUKIS’ FLAT. Sherlock ducks under the police tape at the bottom of the stairs inside the door of the flat. He goes upstairs, followed by Dimmock and John. Looking around at everything as he goes, he walks into the living room. There’s an open empty suitcase on the floor. Nearby on the carpet is a black origami flower, similar to the one that Sherlock pulled from Van Coon’s mouth. There are books everywhere on the desk and on bookshelves and scattered about on the floor. Several open newspapers are also lying on the floor. He walks over to the kitchen area and looks through the window at the nearby rooftops of lower buildings. Pushing back the net curtain for a better look, he smirks.**

**SHERLOCK: Four floors up. That’s why they think they’re safe. Put a chain across the door and bolt it shut; think they’re impregnable.**

Well, obviously he’s not using the front door! There are other ways to get into a building,” Sally shouted in frustration.

“What an awful way to go, though,” Mrs. Hudson remarked, “The poor dears thought they were safe, only to have the rug ripped out from under them.”

**He walks into the middle of the room again.**

**SHERLOCK: They don’t reckon for one second that there’s another way in.**

**He turns back towards the stairs and sees a skylight above the landing.**

**DIMMOCK: I don’t understand.**

**SHERLOCK (going out onto the landing): You’re dealing with a killer who can climb.**

“That’s obvious enough.”

“From where we’re standing, of course, it is, Anderson,” Lestrade said. “But to them… how are they to know?”

**He hops up on something – maybe a step stool or a box – to get closer to the skylight which is high up on the angled roof.**

**DIMMOCK: What are you doing?**

**SHERLOCK: He clings to the walls like an insect.**

John chuckled.

“What?” Lestrade asked.

“Sherlock wasn’t too far off,” he explained. “Too bad spiders aren’t insects, or he would’ve been spot on.”

**He unhooks the latch and pushes the window upwards.**

**SHERLOCK (softly): That’s how he got in.**

**DIMMOCK: What?!**

**SHERLOCK: Climbed up the side of the walls, ran along the roof, dropped in through this skylight.**

**DIMMOCK: You’re not serious! Like Spiderman?**

“Exactly like Spiderman, but that would make for copyright issues,” Anderson muttered.

“There’s also the fact that this man is killing people,” Molly added.

**SHERLOCK: He scaled six floors of a Docklands apartment building, jumped the balcony to kill Van Coon.**

**DIMMOCK (laughing in disbelief): Oh, ho-hold on!**

**SHERLOCK: And of course, that’s how he got into the bank. He ran along the window ledge and onto the terrace.**

“And he’s figured it out. Now all he has to do is-”

“Yeah,” John said, interrupting Anderson “He’ll say that, too.”

**He steps down onto the landing and looks around again.**

**SHERLOCK: We have to find out what connects these two men.**

**His eyes fall on the pile of books scattered up the side of the staircase. Jumping down a few stairs he picks up one particular book which has fallen open at its front page which shows that it has been borrowed from West Kensington Library. Slamming the book shut, he takes it with him as he heads off down the stairs.**

*****

**After a taxi journey, Sherlock and John are once again on an escalator, this time inside West Kensington Library. Sherlock finds his way to the aisle where Lukis’ book came from.**

**SHERLOCK: Date stamped on the book is the same day that he died.**

**Checking the reference number stuck to the bottom of the book’s spine, he goes to the correct place along the shelves and starts pulling out books and examining them. John, probably just for something to do, pulls out some books on a nearby shelf on the other side of the aisle and immediately gets lucky.**

**JOHN: Sherlock.**

**Sherlock turns and sees John staring into the gap left by the books he removed. Stepping over to him, he kisses John’s ear-**

“Wait. Did he just kiss John’s ear?” Lestrade asked.

“Are you sure that’s what you saw?” Molly looked at him.

“Yeah, pretty sure. John?”

The man in question shook his head, not remembering that bit very well. Well, it _had_ been over a year ago.

**-and then reaches to the shelf and pulls out a bunch of books with one hand. Pulling out another huge handful of books with his other hand, he reveals that spray-painted on the back of the shelf are the same two symbols that were sprayed across Sir William Shad’s office.**

“Who else thought that it was insane how many books he pulled out with each hand?” Anderson asked. “Just how wide are they?”

*****

**221B. Photographs of the shelf have been added to the earlier photos stuck around the mirror in the living room. The boys are standing at the fireplace looking at the pictures.**

**SHERLOCK: So, the killer goes to the bank, leaves a threatening cipher for Van Coon; Van Coon panics, returns to his apartment, locks himself in.**

**Flashback of a terrified Eddie Van Coon turning the key in the inside lock of his front door and fastening the safety chain before hurrying towards his bedroom.**

**SHERLOCK: Hours later, he dies.**

**JOHN: The killer finds Lukis at the library; he writes the cipher on the shelf where he knows it’ll be seen; Lukis goes home.**

**SHERLOCK: Late that night, he dies too.**

“You have to find out how they know each other, Sherlock,” Molly whispered.

**JOHN (softly): Why did they die, Sherlock?**

**Sherlock runs his fingers over the line painted across Sir William’s face.**

**SHERLOCK: Only the cipher can tell us.**

**He thoughtfully taps his finger against the photo as his expression sharpens. Apparently, he has had an idea.**

*****

**TRAFALGAR SQUARE. The boys are walking through the centre of the square, heading towards the National Gallery.**

**SHERLOCK: The world’s run on codes and ciphers, John. From the million-pound security system at the bank to the PIN machine you took exception to, cryptography inhabits our every waking moment.**

“That’s true, but if it’s everywhere, how are you going to narrow it down?” Molly wondered aloud, knowing that Sherlock couldn’t hear her – it was the past, after all. Her question would be answered soon enough.

**JOHN: Yes, okay, but ...**

**SHERLOCK: ... but it’s all computer-generated: electronic codes, electronic ciphering methods. This is different. It’s an ancient device. Modern code-breaking methods won’t unravel it.**

“Oh.”

**JOHN: Where are we headed?**

**SHERLOCK: I need to ask some advice.**

“What?” Most of the audience cried, staring at the screen in shock.

**JOHN: What?! Sorry?!**

“It seems that most of you think like John,” Mycroft said with a hint of amusement in his voice. Only a hint, mind you.

**Sherlock throws him a black look as John smiles in disbelief.**

**SHERLOCK: You heard me perfectly. I’m not saying it again.**

**JOHN: You need advice?**

**SHERLOCK: On painting, yes. I need to talk to an expert.**

**He leads John towards the entrance to the National Gallery ...**

“So, you’re going to the gallery? That’s perfect! But… how did Sherlock know that Soo Lin was there and that she got the same warning?” Molly asked, looking at John.

“He didn’t.” John didn’t say more.

*****

**... and straight around it to the rear of the building where a young man has spray-stencilled onto a solid grey metal door the image of a policeman holding a rifle in his hands. The image has a pig’s snout in place of a human nose. A large canvas bag is at the man’s feet and he is holding spray cans in both hands. With one of the cans, he has sprayed his tag, “RAZ”, below the image and he is now adding the finishing touches to his ‘artwork.’ He continues spraying, unperturbed, as Sherlock and John approach.**

**RAZ: Part of a new exhibition.**

**SHERLOCK (disinterestedly): Interesting.**

**RAZ: I call it Urban Bloodlust Frenzy.**

**He chuckles.**

**JOHN: Catchy.**

**RAZ (still spraying): I’ve got two minutes before a Community Support Officer comes round that corner.**

“How does he know that?” Anderson asked.

“Because he needs to know,” John replied.

**He looks at Sherlock.**

**RAZ: Can we do this while I’m workin’?**

**Sherlock has taken his phone from his coat pocket and now holds it out towards Raz, who turns around and tosses one of the spray cans at John. John instinctively catches it and looks at Sherlock and Raz in bewilderment. Raz takes Sherlock’s phone and scrolls through the photographs of the yellow ciphers from Sir William’s office and the library.**

**SHERLOCK: Know the author?**

**RAZ: Recognise the paint. It’s like Michigan; hardcore propellant. I’d say zinc.**

“Is this how the freak knows so much about everything useful? Everything that he doesn’t file away, he knows who to ask?” Sally asked incredulously.

“Of course,” John said, though his reply was rather clipped. Most likely due to his annoyance at the Sergeant’s stubbornly still-used nickname for his late friend.

**SHERLOCK: What about the symbols: d’you recognize them?**

**RAZ (squinting at the pictures): Not even sure it’s a proper language.**

**SHERLOCK: Two men have been murdered, Raz. Deciphering this is the key to finding out who killed them.**

**RAZ: What, and this is all you’ve got to go on? It’s hardly much, now, is it?**

“He has a point, but Sherlock has solved cases on less than that,” John commented.

**SHERLOCK: Are you gonna help us or not?**

**RAZ: I’ll ask around.**

**SHERLOCK: Somebody must know something about it.**

**VOICE (offscreen): Oi!**

**The three of them look round and see two Community Support Officers hurrying towards them. Sherlock instantly grabs his phone from Raz and runs off in the opposite direction while Raz drops his spray can, kicks his bag towards John and also scarpers. John, the blithering idiot, meekly turns towards the officers.**

“Way to go, John! You’re supposed to run!” Anderson scolded.

“I wasn’t prepared for that!” John protested.

“He told you so, didn’t he? That the community Support Officers would be in the alley in…what? Two minutes? You should’ve been ready,” Lestrade said with slight disappointment in his tone.

**COMMUNITY OFFICER: What the hell do you think you’re doing? This gallery is a listed public building.**

**JOHN: No, no, wait, wait. It’s not me who painted that.**

**He holds up the spray can.**

**JOHN: I was just holding this for ...**

**He turns and seems to realize for the first time that he has been abandoned. He sighs quietly. The officer kicks open the bag to reveal more spray cans inside, then looks at John pointedly.**

**COMMUNITY OFFICER: Bit of an enthusiast, are we?**

“He seriously thought that _you_ were the one who did that?” Anderson asked.

John shrugged.

**John looks blankly at him and then stares at the graffiti on the door, apparently wondering how he’s going to explain his way out of this.**

*****

**NATIONAL ANTIQUITIES MUSEUM. Andy is pestering the museum’s Director about Soo Lin’s abrupt departure.**

Sally smirked. “Well, here’s this kid again. Is he still asking about Soo Lin?”

**ANDY: She was right in the middle of an important piece of restoration. Why would she suddenly resign?**

**DIRECTOR: Family problems. She said so in her letter.**

**ANDY: But she doesn’t have a family. She came to this country on her own.**

**DIRECTOR: Andy ...**

**ANDY: Look, those teapots, those ceramics: they’ve become her obsession. She’s been working on restoring them for weeks. I-I can’t believe that she would just abandon them.**

“Even though it’s kind of creepy how much he knows about her, he does have a point,” Molly pointed out. “If someone in my workplace suddenly dropped everything that they were working on and left, I would be concerned, too.”

“You mean if Sherlock suddenly stopped coming, you’d be concerned,” John teased.

Molly turned bright red. “No.”

John chuckled. “Yeah, okay.”

**The Director looks at him pointedly.**

**DIRECTOR: Perhaps she was getting a bit of unwanted attention.**

Lestrade sighed. “God, now even the director thinks that Andy was the one to chase her away.”

“And it’s doing nothing for the poor boy's self-esteem,” Mrs. Hudson said, watching the boy’s face fall on the screen.

**She walks away. Andy looks around awkwardly at other colleagues in the room who have been listening in but who now abruptly turns away.**

*****

**221B. Sherlock is standing at the fireplace again. The mirror is now almost completely covered because he has added several sheets of paper with various ciphers and pictograms on them. He has his head lowered and is consulting a book. A slamming door announces John’s return to the flat but since John immediately walks into the living room, I can only assume that he slammed the kitchen door shut as he walked past it – presumably, the only way he can think of to signify that not only is he home, but he is Mad as Hell.**

“God, John, what crawled into your cereal that morning?” Lestrade asked, turning to the man in question.

“Nothing,” John replied, “If you recall, I was wrongfully arrested.” He crossed his arms, glaring at the screen like he was still peeved at Sherlock for what happened.

**SHERLOCK (without turning around or looking up): You’ve been a while. (John walks a few more paces into the room, his shoulders rigid and his fists clenched. He stops, blinking as he fights to hold onto his anger, then turns to Sherlock.**

**JOHN (tightly): Yeah, well, you know how it is. Custody sergeants don’t really like to be hurried, do they?**

**He starts pacing, an angry half-smile half-grimace on his face.**

**JOHN: Just formalities: fingerprints, charge sheet; and I’ve gotta be in Magistrates Court on Tuesday.**

**SHERLOCK (absently, having clearly not heard a word): What?**

**JOHN (angrily): Me, Sherlock, in court on Tuesday. (He puts on a rough London accent.) They’re givin’ me an ASBO!**

**SHERLOCK (still not paying any attention): Good. Fine.**

**JOHN (tightly): You wanna tell your little pal he’s welcome to go and own up any time.**

**SHERLOCK (slamming his book shut): This symbol: I still can’t place it.**

“And, of course, that’s all Sherlock cares about,” John said with a sigh.

**Turning and putting down the book, he walks over to John who has just started to take off his jacket and pulls the jacket back onto his shoulders.**

**SHERLOCK: No, I need you to go to the police station ...**

**JOHN (indignantly as Sherlock turns him around and steers him towards the door): Oi, oi, oi!**

**SHERLOCK: ... ask about the journalist.**

**JOHN (exasperated): Oh, Jesus!**

“Poor John!” Mrs. Hudson cried though she was laughing.

**SHERLOCK (grabbing his own coat from the back of the door): His personal effects will have been impounded. Get hold of his diary or something that will tell us his movements.**

**They go downstairs and out onto the street.**

**SHERLOCK: Gonna go and see Van Coon’s P.A. If we retrace their steps, somewhere they’ll coincide.**

“And so, he gives John the easy bit and they both end up in the same place anyway,” Anderson predicted.

**He walks off down the street. John sees a taxi coming around the corner and hails it. As it pulls over to the curb he sees an Oriental-looking woman with dark hair and wearing dark sunglasses standing on the other side of the road and taking a photograph. Her camera is aimed in his direction. He bends to the taxi driver’s window.**

“Huh? Who was that?” the forensic scientist questioned, staring at the woman for the few seconds that she was on screen.

**JOHN: Scotland Yard.**

**TAXI DRIVER: Right.**

**John gets into the back of the taxi and glances round to the other side of the road as he sits down. There is no sign of the woman.**

*****

**SHAD SANDERSON BANK. Sherlock is in Van Coon’s office standing beside his personal assistant, Amanda, who is looking at an online calendar.**

“Well, this seems boring, but at least it will help with the investigation, right?” Molly said.

“I’m still impressed by how this person got all this footage! I mean, there are bits where we’re on our own, or neither of us are there, and I know that most of you don’t know what happened firsthand, but some of this stuff not even I know!” John exclaimed.

**AMANDA: Flew back from Dalian Friday. Looks like he had back-to-back meetings with the sales team.**

**SHERLOCK: Can you print me up a copy?**

**AMANDA: Sure.**

**SHERLOCK: What about the day he died? Can you tell me where he was?**

**AMANDA (looking at the screen): Sorry. Bit of a gap.**

**The calendar shows no entries for Monday the 22nd. Sherlock looks away, frustrated. Amanda also realizes something.**

**AMANDA: I have all his receipts.**

“And that will definitely be useful!” Lestrade said happily.

*****

**NEW SCOTLAND YARD. Dimmock is standing at a desk and rummaging through a box of Brian Lukis’ possessions. John stands at the other side.**

**DIMMOCK: Your friend ...**

**JOHN: Listen: whatever you say, I’m behind you one hundred percent.**

“John!” Mrs. Hudson scolded, smacking the short, blond man.

**DIMMOCK: ... he’s an arrogant sod.**

**JOHN: Well, that was mild! People say a lot worse than that.**

At this, many of the audience members turned to glare at Sally, who ignored them. She stood by what she called the freak.

**Dimmock hands him a diary.**

**DIMMOCK: This is what you wanted, isn’t it? The journalist’s diary?**

**John takes the diary and flicks through it, opening it at a page which has been bookmarked with a boarding pass to Dalian DLC to London LHR on Zhuang Airlines.**

*****

**SHAD SANDERSON BANK. Amanda has spread out Van Coon’s receipts on her desk.**

**SHERLOCK: What kind of a boss was he, Amanda? Appreciative?**

**AMANDA: Um, no. That’s not a word I’d use. The only things Eddie appreciated had a big price tag.**

**Sherlock kneels on the floor to give himself easier access to the receipts. While he is taking off his gloves he sees a pump-action bottle of luxury hand lotion at the back of the desk.**

**SHERLOCK: Like that hand cream. He bought that for you, didn’t he?**

**Fiddling nervously with a pin in her hair, Amanda looks at him in surprise. Sherlock shuffles through the paperwork and picks up a receipt from a licensed taxi. Dated 22 March 2010 and timed at 10:35, the receipt is for £18.50. He hands it up to Amanda.**

“And to think,” John said with a sigh, “The pin was right there the whole time.”

His comment received a few glanced, but mostly, they focused on the screen.

**SHERLOCK: Look at this one. Got a taxi from home on the day he died. Eighteen pounds fifty.**

**AMANDA: That would get him to the office.**

**SHERLOCK: Not rush hour; check the time. Mid-morning. Eighteen would get him as far as ...**

**AMANDA: The West End. I remember him saying.**

**Sherlock has now found a London Underground ticket with the same date on it and issued at “Piccadilly” He hands that up to Amanda.**

**SHERLOCK: Underground. Printed at one in Piccadilly.**

**AMANDA: So, he got a Tube back to the office. Why would he get a taxi into town and then the Tube back?**

**SHERLOCK (still going through the receipts): Because he was delivering something heavy. Didn’t want to lug a package up the escalator.**

“How does he make connections like that?” Anderson questioned, staring at his idol in wonder. “All he had was a man using a taxi, then the Tube, and he figured out that he had something heavy with him.” He sighed, silently wishing he had the same ability.

**AMANDA: Delivering?**

**SHERLOCK: To somewhere near Piccadilly Station. Dropped the package, delivered it and then ...**

**He finds another receipt and stands up as he looks at it. It’s from the Piazza Espresso Bar Italiano.**

**SHERLOCK: ... stopped on his way. He got peckish.**

*****

**LONDON STREETS. Sometime later Sherlock has found the espresso bar and is talking to himself out loud as he walks past it.**

**SHERLOCK: So, you bought your lunch from here en route to the station, but where were you headed from? Where did the taxi drop you ...?**

**He has been spinning around as he walks and now bumps into someone approaching from behind who is also distracted and not looking where he’s going. It’s John, who is engrossed in looking down at Lukis’ diary. Sherlock grunts as they collide. John looks surprised to see him there.**

**JOHN: Right.**

**SHERLOCK (quick fire): Eddie Van Coon brought a package here the day he died – whatever was hidden inside that case. I’ve managed to piece together a picture using scraps of information ...**

**JOHN: Sherlock ...**

**SHERLOCK: ... credit card bills, receipts. He flew back from China, then he came here.**

**JOHN: Sherlock ...**

“Maybe if you let him talk, Sherlock…” Molly said, trailing off. She didn’t even need to finish her sentence. Her point was made.

**SHERLOCK: Somewhere in this street; somewhere near. I don’t know where, but ...**

**JOHN (pointing to the other side of the road): That shop over there.**

**Sherlock looks at the shop, then looks back to John, frowning.**

**SHERLOCK: How can you tell?**

**JOHN: Lukis’ diary. (He shows Sherlock the entry.) He was here too. He wrote down the address.**

**He turns and heads towards the shop.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh.**

**He follows after his friend.**

“And thus, concludes the only moment when John knew something that Sherlock didn’t,” Anderson said.

John glared.

“When it came to a case,” Anderson lamented.

*****

**CHINATOWN. The boys walk into a touristy shop which consists largely of decorative cats that are sitting up on their hind legs with one front paw raised. The paws on some of the cats are waving back and forth. John greets the female Chinese shop keeper politely.**

**JOHN: Hello.**

**They look around at all the items on display. The shop keeper lifts one of the cats from the desk.**

**SHOP KEEPER: You want lucky cat?**

**JOHN: No, thanks. No.**

**Sherlock looks round at him and smirks.**

**SHOP KEEPER: Ten pound. Ten pound!**

**JOHN: No.**

**He smiles awkwardly.**

**SHOP KEEPER: I think your wife, she will like!**

“If only,” John said.

“Yeah, you don’t have a wife! You can’t even keep a girlfriend for long,” Lestrade said humorously.

“Oh,” Mrs. Hudson said, “I thought you were going to say that Sherlock was there, and he didn’t seem too interested in them.”

“Mrs. Hudson!” John whined, knowing exactly what she was implying. “We’ve been over this!”

**JOHN: No, thank you.**

**He walks over to one of the tables which has small ceramic painted handle-less cups on it. Sherlock is examining a rack displaying clay statues. John picks up one of the cups and turns it over to look at the price tag. His hand begins to tremble when he sees the Chinese symbol stuck on the underside. It’s the same sort-of upside down eight with a line above it which was painted beside Sir William’s portrait and on the library shelf.**

**JOHN: Sherlock.**

**Sherlock, who has picked up one of the statues, puts it back on the shelf and comes over to him.**

**JOHN: The label there.**

**SHERLOCK: Yes, I see it.**

**JOHN: Exactly the same as the cipher.**

**Clearing his throat awkwardly, he puts the cup back. Sherlock lifts his head as it all starts to make sense to him.**

*****

**Shortly afterwards they have left the shop and are walking down the street.**

**SHERLOCK: It’s an ancient number system! Hangzhou.**

**The symbols from that system are flashing in his mind’s eye as he walks.**

**SHERLOCK: These days, only street traders use it. Those were numbers written on the wall at the bank and at the library.**

**He walks over to a greengrocer’s which has some of its wares on display outside the shop. The various boxes have handwritten signs on them giving the names of the vegetables in both Chinese and English, and underneath is the cost of that particular item in both Hangzhou and English. He picks up various signs, checking the symbols.**

**SHERLOCK: Numbers written in an ancient Chinese dialect.**

**John has spotted a sign with the upside-down eight and slashes above it and its English equivalent beneath.**

**JOHN: It’s a fifteen! What we thought was the artist’s tag – it’s a number fifteen.**

**SHERLOCK: And the blindfold – the horizontal line? That was a number as well.**

**He shows John a price tag which has the almost-horizontal line at the top, and “£1” written underneath.**

**SHERLOCK (grinning triumphantly): The Chinese number one, John.**

**JOHN: We’ve found it!**

**Sherlock turns and walks away. As John smiles and turns to follow him, he sees the same woman who was taking a photograph outside 221 standing nearby. Still wearing her dark sunglasses, she again has her camera raised and pointed towards him as she takes a picture. Someone walks across her, obscuring his view of her for a moment, and by the time the person has passed, she has vanished. John frowns, then follows after his friend.**

“I wonder who that was,” Lestrade said, squinting at the screen before it went blank once again. “And I guess that’s the end of this segment.”

“So, what did we learn this time around?” Anderson asked, swivelling around in his seat to look at the others.

Molly twitched. She was sitting rather upright but didn’t look uncomfortable as she focused on the blank screen. It was as if she was willing the next part to start like she didn’t want to have this chat, but nothing happened, and after a few moments, she gave up, sagged and let out a sigh. “The killer can climb walls, right? He’s killed two people already, and will most likely go after this Soo Lin girl, too.”

“And they’ve finally figured out the cipher, now all they have to do is translate what it means,” Anderson said.

John groaned. “First we have to figure out why they’re using numbers, and which book will translate them, and how to use the book, and how it connects to two men, and uncover a whole smuggling ring conspiracy, but yeah, I’d say we’re almost done with this case,” he said sarcastically.

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	13. 1x2 Part 4 - The Blind Banker

“So, what you’re saying…” Anderson began, “Is that we’re not almost done?” He’d nearly turned his whole body around to give John a look of absolute confusion. Was it because he wasn’t sure that the shorter man was being sarcastic, or what? Of course, they weren’t nearly done! Most of Sherlock’s major cases took a few days at least.

John snorted. “Not even close. Considering how many breaks we got last time, we’ll probably have the same this time, so… this is part four, I guess. Of eight,” he replied. They weren’t even halfway done the second case and already he was frustrated with the former forensic scientist’s inobservant remarks.

“Oh,” Anderson said. “But I don’t really like this one. Can’t we just speed through it?”

“No,” John replied, though he didn’t seem sure. “I don’t think so. We’ll have to leave it up to our _mysterious captor_ if that’s what we’re still calling them – whoever they are.”

“Now that that’s done, where were we?” Molly asked. She’d forgotten due to the boys’ argument.

“They went into the tourist shop and figured out that the cipher is numbers in an ancient Chinese dialect,” came Sally’s clipped answer. She was frustrated as well, and not only because of the cold shoulders, she kept getting because of her description of the late detective.

“Okay, thanks.”

Just then, the screen lit up, as if it knew that they were ready – which it probably did because they were being watched – and the next part began.

**Shortly afterwards, they’re staking out the tourist shop, which we now see is The Lucky Cat, the shop outside which Andy Galbraith was standing when he tried Soo Lin’s doorbell. Sitting at a table in the window of the restaurant opposite the shop, Sherlock is writing the two Hangzhou numbers and their English equivalents onto a paper napkin. John sits opposite him, also writing notes.**

“Sherlock should’ve eaten something,” Mrs. Hudson fussed. She knew the man too well to think that he’d ordered something too. He was on a case, after all, and he didn’t eat on the job. That was his – poor – policy.

**JOHN: Two men travel back from China. Both head straight for the Lucky Cat emporium. What did they see?**

**SHERLOCK: It’s not what they saw; it’s what they both brought back in those suitcases.**

**JOHN: And you don’t mean duty-free.**

**A waitress brings over a plate of food and puts it down in front of John.**

“You should have ordered something for Sherlock, John,” Mrs. Hudson scolded.

“And did what?” the man in question replied.

“Made him eat! He was thin as a twig always was!”

“I couldn’t make him do anything if I tried, much less eat!”

Mrs. Hudson was quiet again. A sadness settled over the room at the truth in their words. Sherlock wouldn’t eat regularly, everyone knew that.

**JOHN: Thank you.**

**SHERLOCK: Think about what Sebastian told us; about Van Coon – about how he stayed afloat in the market.**

**JOHN: Lost five million ...**

**SHERLOCK: ... made it back in a week.**

**JOHN: Mmm.**

**SHERLOCK: That’s how he made such easy money.**

“They were both smugglers!” Anderson remembered suddenly. He hadn’t been around for that case, but he’d remembered reading about it on John’s blog.

**JOHN: He was a smuggler. Mmm.**

**He takes a mouthful of food.**

**SHERLOCK: A guy like him – it would have been perfect.**

**Cutaway flashback of Van Coon paying a taxi driver just outside the Lucky Cat and then carrying his suitcase towards the shop.**

“It’s nice how there are scenes to explain everything for us so nicely,” Mrs. Hudson commented with a small smile.

**SHERLOCK: Businessman...**

**JOHN: Mmm-hmm.**

**SHERLOCK: ... making frequent trips to Asia. And Lukis was the same ...**

**Cutaway flashback of Lukis carrying his suitcase into the Lucky Cat and lifting it onto the counter.**

“Is Sherlock seeing this in his mind? Like…imagining it? Or is it only for us?” Molly asked, tilting her head at the screen before turning her eyes to the others.

There was a brief break where the screen turned black and words popped up, _“Only for your viewing pleasure.”_

The screen went back to normal as Molly said, “Oh, thanks.”

**SHERLOCK: ... a journalist writing about China.**

**JOHN: Mmm.**

**SHERLOCK: Both of them smuggled stuff out, and the Lucky Cat was their drop-off.**

**JOHN: But why did they die? I mean, it doesn’t make sense. If they both turn up at the shop and deliver the goods, why would someone threaten them and kill them after the event, after they’d finished the job?**

**Sherlock sits back thoughtfully for a few seconds, then smiles as he realizes the answer.**

**SHERLOCK: What if one of them was light-fingered?**

**JOHN: How d’you mean?**

“Stole something, John. Why else would they be targeted and killed?” Mycroft said, his voice aloof.

**SHERLOCK: Stole something; something from the hoard.**

**JOHN: And the killer doesn’t know which of them took it, so he threatens them both. Right.**

**Sherlock looks out of the window towards the shop, then raises his eyes to the windows above it. Looking down to the ground floor level again, his gaze sharpens.**

“What d’you think he’s looking at?” Anderson asked.

“That girl, Soo Lin. She lived right next to The Lucky Cat. We saw it when that Andy fellow was at her door,” Lestrade guessed, voicing his thoughts aloud. “Maybe that’s why we’ve seen them; they’re part of the story.”

**SHERLOCK: Remind me ...**

**He focuses on a Yellow Pages phone directory sealed in a plastic wrapper that has been left outside the door to the flat beside the Lucky Cat.**

**SHERLOCK: ... when was the last time that it rained?**

**Without waiting for a reply, he stands up and leaves the restaurant. John, who has probably managed only two mouthfuls of his meal, sits back in exasperation but then dutifully gets up and follows.**

“Poor John. Never gets to finish his food,” Mrs. Hudson said sympathetically. Though, if one really knew her, they’d be able to pull out of her voice that she wasn’t being sympathetic at all, but actually sarcastic in her annoyed-old-lady – landlady-not-a-housekeeper – sort of way.

**Over the road, Sherlock bends down to the Yellow Pages. The plastic wrapper still has drops of water on it, and the top of it has broken open a little. Sherlock runs his fingers over the top of the wet exposed pages of the directory.**

**SHERLOCK: It’s been here since Monday.**

“That is pretty suspicious,” Sally agreed begrudgingly.

**He straightens up and presses Soo Lin’s doorbell. He only waits a couple of seconds, then looks to his right and heads off in that direction. There’s an alleyway beside the flat and the boys walk down the alley.**

**SHERLOCK: No-one’s been in that flat for at least three days.**

**JOHN: Could’ve gone on holiday.**

**SHERLOCK: D’you leave your windows open when you go on holiday?**

**He has reached the rear of the building and looks up to see a cantilevered metal fire escape above his head. Taking a short run at it, he jumps up and grabs the end, pulling it down towards him until it touches the ground, then runs up the steps towards the open window of the flat. As he reaches the top, the ladder swings back to the horizontal position behind him.**

**JOHN: Sherlock!**

**Realizing that he’s far too much of a short-arse to be able to pull the ladder down again, he turns and runs back along the alley to the front of the building.**

**Sherlock climbs in through the window into the kitchen, then cries out in muffled alarm as he almost knocks a vase of flowers off the table beside the window. Catching it before it hits the floor, he looks down and sees a wet patch on the rug in the precise place where the vase would have hit if it had reached the floor. Straightening up, he calls out of the open window, unaware that John is no longer there.**

**SHERLOCK: Someone else has been here.**

**Putting the vase back onto the table, he looks around, talking too quietly for John to hear even if he was still nearby.**

“Who is he talking too? This kind of makes it seem like he knew we would be watching this, but even Sherlock’s not that good,” Lestrade commented.

“Maybe now, you can finally accept that he’s just a freak like I’ve always said?” Sally asked.

She was, of course, ignored.

**SHERLOCK: Somebody else broke into the flat and knocked over the vase just like I did.**

**He looks around the kitchen, then bends down to the washing machine and opens it. Taking out an item of Soo Lin’s unmentionables, he sniffs it and grimaces. Downstairs, John rings on the doorbell. Sherlock puts the item back into the washing machine and pushes the door closed, then reaches for a tea towel hanging up nearby.**

“See what I mean? What kind of sane man would go through a woman’s dirty laundry?” Sally exclaimed, throwing her hands at the screen as if it was the only proof she needed to argue her case.

“It’s for the case,” Molly protested, though her voice was small. “And at least he put it back.”

**JOHN (from outside): D’you think maybe you could let me in this time?**

**Sherlock feels the tea towel, apparently finds that it’s dry, and moves onwards. Downstairs, John bends down to the letterbox, pushes it open and calls through the gap.**

**JOHN: Can you not keep doing this, please?**

“What do you mean, _this time_?” Anderson asked.

**Sherlock has taken a pint of milk from the fridge and has taken off the lid and now sniffs the contents. Putting the bottle back into the fridge, he calls out.**

**SHERLOCK: I’m not the first.**

**With the everyday noise of the street all around him, John can’t hear what he’s saying. He bends down and puts his ear to the letterbox which he’s still holding open.**

**JOHN: What?**

**SHERLOCK (louder): Somebody’s been in here before me!**

“And of course, John can’t hear you,” Molly said with a sigh.

**JOHN: What are you saying?**

**Sherlock has taken his pocket magnifier from his coat and looks down to where a foot has rucked up the rug, leaving an impression of the intruder’s shoe.**

**SHERLOCK (not as loudly): Size eight feet.**

**He pushes through the beaded curtain between the kitchen and the bedroom/living room, bent forward while he examines the rug.**

**SHERLOCK (now talking more to himself than to John): Small, but ... athletic.**

“Well, only an athlete could have killed those other people, but then again, we don’t know for sure that the same guy broke into here.” Lestrade crossed his arms.

**He straightens up, looking thoughtful. Outside, John lets go of the letterbox and straightens up, sighing in exasperation.**

**JOHN: I’m wasting my breath.**

**He walks a couple of paces away from the door, glaring around in annoyance, then turns back and rings the doorbell again. Inside, Sherlock has picked up a framed photograph of two young Chinese children – a boy and a girl. A fresh handprint is on the glass where someone has pressed their fingers against the image of the girl. Sherlock is holding his magnifier over the fingerprints as he gently runs his gloved fingers along them to gauge the size.**

**SHERLOCK (softly): Small, strong hands.**

**Closing the magnifier, he puts down the photograph.**

**SHERLOCK: Our acrobat.**

**He frowns, looking around.**

**SHERLOCK: But why didn’t he close the window when he left ...?**

“Stupid little brother,” Mycroft muttered, “He’s still there, obviously.”

The others stared at him incredulously, then returned to looking at the screen as the on-screen Sherlock realized the same thing.

**He stops as he realizes the truth and rolls his eyes at himself.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, stupid. Stupid. Obvious. He’s still here.**

“What did I tell you?”

“Well, Mycroft Holmes, you could be a great detective, too, if you came up off your lazy bum once in a while!” Mrs. Hudson scolded him with a sharp glare.

**He looks around the room and sees an ornately decorated free-standing folding screen shielding the bed. Putting his magnifier into his pocket, he walks carefully towards it and then grabs the edge of the screen and pulls it back. Two stuffed toys stare back at him in startled terror from the bedside table. Before he has a chance to apologize to them, someone quickly wraps a long white silk scarf around his neck from behind and bundles him to the floor on his back, strangling him. Sherlock grabs at the scarf, trying to relieve the pressure on his throat but the assailant – dressed all in black – continues to throttle him.**

“Oh no!” Molly cried, her hands coming up to cover her mouth.

**Downstairs, John bends to the letterbox and flips it open again.**

**JOHN: Any time you want to include me.**

Molly glared at him. “He can’t!”

John threw his hands into the air defensively. “How was I supposed to know what was going on in there?”

**SHERLOCK (faintly, as he struggles against his attacker): John! John!**

**Downstairs, John has straightened up again and shakes his head in frustration.**

**JOHN (pacing in irritation): “No, I’m Sherlock Holmes and I always work alone because no-one else can compete with ...”**

**He storms back to the letterbox flips it open and angrily shouts through it.**

**JOHN: “... my MASSIVE INTELLECT!”**

“You know, that is a perfect imitation of him!” Lestrade said with a laugh.

“Yeah.” John sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I just wish I hadn’t done that.”

“Why?” Anderson questioned.

“You’ll see later.”

**He drops the letterbox again. Upstairs, Sherlock is starting to lose consciousness. As his struggles become weaker and his hands fall clear of the scarf, the attacker releases his grip. Downstairs, John angrily rings on the doorbell again. Upstairs, while Sherlock lies still on the floor, his eyes half-closed, the assailant shoves something into Sherlock’s coat pocket, then gets up and runs off. Sherlock chokes and coughs, tugging the scarf from around his neck and rolling onto his front before getting up onto his hands and knees. As the attacker disappears through the beaded curtain into the kitchen, Sherlock groans and pulls his own scarf loose, gasping as he gets his breath back. Downstairs, John looks at his watch in irritation and shakes his head, apparently considering just leaving. Upstairs, breathing a little better, Sherlock sits up on his heels, rummages in his coat pocket and pulls out a black origami paper flower. He looks at it for a moment, then stumbles to his feet, wobbling for a moment before pulling himself together and heading for the stairs.**

**A few moments later he opens the front door downstairs. John makes an exasperated sound and glares at him. When Sherlock speaks, his voice is croaky.**

**SHERLOCK: The, uh, milk’s gone off and the washing’s starting to smell. Somebody left here in a hurry three days ago.**

“How did you not realize that something happened?” Lestrade asked John.

“I did, but it’s not like he’d tell me.”

**JOHN: Somebody?**

**SHERLOCK (nodding, his voice still rough): Soo Lin Yao. We have to find her.**

**He looks down and bends to pick something off the floor.**

**JOHN: But how, exactly?**

**Sherlock picks up a folded envelope. On the back of it is written:**

*****

**SOO LIN**

**Please ring me**

**tell me you’re**

**OK**

**Andy**

*****

**He unfolds the envelope and looks at the front of it. Printed in the bottom right-hand corner is:**

*****

**NATIONAL**

**ANTIQUITIES**

**MUSEUM**

*****

**SHERLOCK (croakily): Maybe we could start with this.**

**He walks out, closing the door behind him, and heads off down the road, John following him.**

**JOHN: You’ve gone all croaky. Are you getting a cold?**

“Seriously, John? A cold?” Mrs. Hudson asked.

“Like I said,” John reiterated. “How was I supposed to know what happened when he didn’t let me in?”

**SHERLOCK (coughing): I’m fine.**

*****

**NATIONAL ANTIQUITIES MUSEUM. Sherlock is pacing around a display area while he interviews Andy.**

**SHERLOCK: When was the last time that you saw her?**

**ANDY: Three days ago, um, here at the museum.**

**Sherlock focuses briefly on a glass case showing some of the clay teapots. Most of them are dull but one is shiny.**

**ANDY: This morning they told me she’d resigned just like that.**

**Sherlock looks at another case containing some jade figurines, and then at a piece of artwork.**

**ANDY: Just left her work unfinished.**

**SHERLOCK (turning to him): What was the last thing that she did on her final afternoon?**

*****

**Andy has brought the boys to the basement archive and now turns on the lights as he leads them in.**

**ANDY: She does this demonstration for the tourists – a-a tea ceremony. So, she would have packed up her things and just put them in here.**

**He leads them to the open stack and starts turning a handle at the end to widen the gap. John goes to stand behind him and looks into the stack, but Sherlock has noticed something more interesting in the shadows further along the room. He walks closer to it. On a stand is a life-sized sculpture of a nude woman ... and yellow paint has been spray-painted across the front of it. An almost horizontal straight line goes across the eyes, and over the body has been sprayed the open upside down eight with the almost horizontal line above it. Andy and John turn and see what he has found.**

“Well, now you two know that she ties into everything, and Sherlock’ll figure out the cipher. He always does,” Lestrade said. “It seems that you’re getting through this case pretty well. It’s just a matter of finding the right book or finding the girl who doesn’t want to be found.”

*****

**Outside the museum, night has fallen as Sherlock and John come out.**

**SHERLOCK: We have to get to Soo Lin Yao.**

**JOHN: If she’s still alive.**

**RAZ: Sherlock!**

“I bet he found the paint,” Anderson guessed with a grin.

**The boys turn as Raz runs over to join them.**

**JOHN: Oh, look who it is.**

**RAZ (to Sherlock): Found something you’ll like.**

**He trots off and Sherlock immediately follows. John heads off after them a little more slowly.**

*****

**Shortly afterwards the three of them are walking across Hungerford Bridge, heading towards the south side of the river.**

**JOHN: Tuesday morning, all you’ve gotta do is turn up and say the bag was yours.**

**SHERLOCK: Forget about your court date.**

**They continue onwards, unaware that the Chinese woman with the dark sunglasses is watching them.**

“Hey, John?” Anderson whispered.

“Yeah?”

“Who’s that?”

“Do I even have to say it at this point?” John seemed annoyed now. “It’ll all come together at the end. It’s like our lives were a cheesy mystery show or something!”

“Sorry I asked.” Anderson’s eyes were wide and his lips were turned down into a frown as he turned back to the television screen.

*****

**SOUTH BANK SKATE PARK. Raz leads the other two across the under-croft. A boy has just done some kind of clever jump on his pushbike.**

**GIRL: Dude, that was rad!**

**SHERLOCK: If you want to hide a tree, then a forest is the best place to do it, wouldn’t you say? People would just walk straight past, not knowing, unable to decipher the message.**

**Raz points to a particular area on the heavily-graffitied walls.**

**RAZ: There. I spotted it earlier.**

**Amongst all the other paint there are slashes of the yellow paint forming Chinese symbols. Some of them are already partially painted over by other artists’ tags and pictures.**

“And of course, it has to be really hard to see. It’s barely even there!” Sally complained. “Who would see that?”

“That’s why Sherlock has his network of people on the streets who know London better than we do,” John told her pointedly.

**SHERLOCK: They have been in here. (To Raz) And that’s the exact same paint?**

**RAZ: Yeah.**

**SHERLOCK: John, if we’re going to decipher this code, we’re gonna need to look for more evidence.**

*****

**The two of them split up and begin searching. Sherlock walks along the end of a railway line and finds an abandoned spray can on the tracks. Squatting down to pick it up, he puts the end of his flashlight into his mouth and runs a thumb over the yellow paint on the nozzle, then sniffs the nozzle.**

“It seems like anything is a quick fix for that addict,” Sally blurted before realizing the reaction she got.

Everyone stiffened, and while they knew that Sherlock had a problem, her comment went way too far.

“How dare you?” Molly whispered savagely.

“Fine,” Sally muttered in reply. “We all know you were head over heels in love with the freak. So, I _didn’t_ like him. Get off my case!”

Molly went red, but whether it was out of embarrassment or anger wasn’t known, nor could it be deciphered by those in the room. At least, of those who were paying attention to the argument.

**John walks through an underpass, looking closely at the graffiti and posters on the walls as he goes.**

**Sherlock is now walking past a wall that has many posters glued to it. One of the posters attracts his attention and he tears off the bottom corner of it and takes it with him as he continues onwards.**

**John is now out on the railway lines. His flashlight picks out splashes of yellow paint on the sleepers and on the rails, then he raises his light to a brick wall, possibly the wall of a maintenance shed, which is about fifteen feet wide. He steps back, his mouth open in surprise as he begins to realize that the entire wall is covered with large yellow Chinese symbols.**

*****

**Later he has finally tracked down Sherlock who is currently looking at the side of a parked rail freight container.**

**JOHN (trotting towards him): Answer your phone! I’ve been calling you! I’ve found it.**

**He turns around again and the two of them run off into the night side by side, Sherlock’s coat billowing behind him. Your transcriber struggles to resist the urge to sing the Batman theme tune.**

*****

**Back at the wall, John leads Sherlock towards it, but his mouth drops open in surprise again, this time for a different reason. The entire wall is now blank.**

**JOHN: It’s been painted over!**

**Sherlock shines his flashlight around the area as John continues to stare at the wall in disbelief.**

**JOHN: I don’t understand. It-it was here ... (he stumbles backwards) ... ten minutes ago. I saw it. A whole load of graffiti!**

**SHERLOCK: Somebody doesn’t want me to see it.**

“Yeah, just you! Not anyone else that might be snooping in the area!” Sally shouted at the screen in annoyance.

**He turns and grabs the sides of John’s head in both hands.**

**JOHN: Hey, Sherlock, what are you doing ...?**

**SHERLOCK: Shh, John, concentrate. I need you to concentrate. Close your eyes.**

**JOHN: No, what? Why? Why?**

**Sherlock lowers his hands to hold John by the upper arms.**

**JOHN: What are you doing?!**

**Sherlock starts to spin them slowly around on the spot, staring intensely into John’s eyes.**

“What in the world are you two doing?”

“Don’t ask me! Sherlock was the one being weird!” John protested.

**SHERLOCK: I need you to maximize your visual memory. Try to picture what you saw. Can you picture it?**

**JOHN: Yeah.**

**SHERLOCK: Can you remember it?**

**JOHN: Yes, definitely.**

**SHERLOCK: Can you remember the pattern?**

“Oh, Sherlock!” Mrs. Hudson scolded humorously. “He might not be very bright, but John wouldn’t just run off like that without snapping a picture.”

**JOHN: Yes!**

**SHERLOCK: How much can you remember it?**

**JOHN: Well, don’t worry ...**

**SHERLOCK (still spinning them): Because the average human memory on visual matters is only sixty-two percent accurate.**

“And he’s above average, obviously,” Sally muttered.

**JOHN: Yeah, well, don’t worry – I remember all of it.**

**SHERLOCK (disbelievingly): Really?**

**JOHN: Yeah, well at least I would ... (he pulls himself free) ... if I can get to my pockets!**

**He rummages in his jacket pocket.**

**JOHN: I took a photograph.**

**He takes out his phone and pulls up a flash photo he has taken of the wall which shows all the symbols clearly. He gives the phone to Sherlock, who takes it and looks embarrassed as John sighs and turns away.**

“But, if they painted over the symbols, wouldn’t they have seen John looking at it?” Anderson asked.

“Yeah, what’s your point?” Sally replied, glaring at him. “They saw him looking at, of course, they’d want to cover the evidence.”

“Yeah, but if they saw him looking, they obviously saw him take the photo, right? Then what would be the point in painting over it?”

“Well, maybe they didn’t want anyone else to see it. No evidence, no cops? And, they could always off him later, before he came to us at Scotland Yard.”

“Oh,” Anderson finally said. “I guess that makes sense.”

“Well, the screen has gone black again anyway, so let’s talk about _part four_ as you called it, John,” Sally said, turning her focus away from Anderson and his idiotic questions.

“What’s there to talk about?” Lestrade asked, “So they figured out that Soo Lin is part of the case and they found the long list of numbers to decipher, without any way to do that. Not much in this part, either.”

“I guess you’re right,” John said, “We might as well continue to onto the next bit, then.”

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	14. 1x2 Part 5 - The Blind Banker

They were ready, but it seemed that their captor had vanished again because the screen took a few minutes before it began with the next scene.

“Alright, finally,” John said as an image of their living room was shown.

**221B. The photograph has been blown up into small sections and then printed out and all the pictures are stuck on the mirror. The numerical value of each symbol has been written against it. Sherlock is standing at the fireplace looking at the pictures closely and has spotted a pattern.**

“Oh,” Sally groaned, “I almost forgot how the freak literally has a _detective wall_!”

“Well, it helps, doesn’t it?” Anderson asked, sounding slightly miffed.

“You’re one to talk! You don’t have a detective wall; you have a _conspiracy theorist wall_!”

“I resent that comment!”

Their arguing continued, but the others in the room had stopped paying attention at that point, opting to keep watching as the scene unfolded on screen rather than off-screen.

**SHERLOCK: Always in pairs, John.**

**John is sitting at the dining table with his back to the fireplace and his head propped in his hands. Sherlock’s voice wakes him up. He blinks and turns his head, squinting around at his friend.**

**JOHN: Hmm?**

**SHERLOCK: Numbers come with partners.**

**JOHN (gazing around the flat blankly): God, I need to sleep.**

“Then why don’t you? Sherlock usually does whatever he wants; you didn’t have to stay awake for him,” Molly said.

“It’s not that easy, Molly,” Lestrade cut in, “Have you ever looked after a baby?”

“Huh?” Molly raised an eyebrow at the detective inspector, as did a few others in the room. “What does that have to do with anything?” she asked.

“Well, I’m just thinking of poor John, constantly tired, at the whim of a screaming baby all hours of the night. Must be exhausting and without end.”

Molly was confused for another second before her eyes widened in realization and she let out a short laugh. “Oh, I get it!” She smacked Lestrade’s arm, enough force to show him that she didn’t appreciate the comment, but soft enough for him to know that she was being playful.

**SHERLOCK: Why did he paint it so near the tracks?**

**JOHN (tiredly): No idea.**

**SHERLOCK: Thousands of people pass by there every day.**

**JOHN (propping his head in his hand again): Just twenty minutes.**

“I kind of like how John keeps talking about how he needs to sleep, and Sherlock is still just talking to himself about the case,” Molly said, hiding a grin behind her hand.

“Why is he talking to you anyway, John? Doesn’t he know you’re not listening?” Anderson questioned.

“He told me this before. It’s because Mrs. Hudson took-”

“Took his skull. Yeah, we know,” Sally interrupted.

**SHERLOCK (realizing something): Of course.**

**He’s looking at a photo of the full wall and now smiles triumphantly.**

**SHERLOCK: Of course! He wants information. He’s trying to communicate with his people in the underworld. Whatever was stolen, he wants it back.**

**He runs his finger over the symbols.**

**SHERLOCK: Somewhere here in the code.**

**He pulls three photographs off the wall and turns towards the door.**

**SHERLOCK: We can’t crack this without Soo Lin Yao.**

“How did he jump to that? I mean, he can solve it without her, but I think…she was able to give him the first hint, so he knows where to look. The problem is, where could she be hiding? He’d have to find her.” Anderson muttered these words to himself.

**JOHN: Oh, good!**

**Tiredly, he gets up to follow.**

*****

**NATIONAL ANTIQUITIES MUSEUM. The boys are back with Andy in the same display room they met him in earlier.**

**SHERLOCK: Two men who travelled back from China were murdered, and their killer left them messages in the Hangzhou numerals.**

**JOHN: Soo Lin Yao’s in danger. Now, that cipher – it was just the same pattern as the others. He means to kill her as well.**

**ANDY: Look, I’ve tried everywhere: um, friends, colleagues. I-I don’t know where she’s gone. I mean, she could be a thousand miles away.**

**Sherlock has turned his head away in exasperation, but now his gaze focuses on the nearby glass case displaying the teapots.**

**JOHN: What are you looking at?**

**SHERLOCK (pointing at the case as he walks towards it): Tell me more about those teapots.**

**ANDY: Th-the pots were her obsession. Um, they need urgent work. If-if they dry out, then the clay can start to crumble. Apparently, you have to just keep making tea in them.**

**Sherlock bends down to look more closely at the shelf.**

**SHERLOCK: Yesterday, only one of those pots was shining. Now there are two.**

“Good catch,” Anderson complimented.

“Yeah, but that’s all he does. Catch things and makes outrageous claims because of them,” Sally growled.

*****

**Later, elsewhere in the museum, fingers reach through the gaps in a large grating at the bottom of a wall and carefully push the grating outwards. Moments after that, a shadow moves across the dimly lit display room, and a hand reaches into the glass case to take out one of the not-shiny teapots. The shadow moves away again. Not long afterwards, Soo Lin is in an almost-dark restoration room, pouring tea into the teapot on the desk in front of her. She picks up the lid and carefully strokes it around the rim as, behind her, a very recognizable curly-headed silhouette appears on the other side of a window in the door. Unaware of this, she picks up the teapot and pours some of the liquid into a pair of cups. Pouring more of the tea into the tray on which the cups are standing, she swills the teapot around to cover the outside with the drips. A figure steps up beside her.**

**SHERLOCK: Fancy a biscuit with that?**

**Before he finishes the sentence, she gasps in fright and turns towards him, the teapot dropping from her terrified fingers. Sherlock reacts instantly and bends his knees to reach down and catch the teapot before it hits the floor. He looks up at her.**

“He did that on purpose! That’s the only way he was fast enough to catch it!” Sally accused under her breath. Luckily, no one heard her. Mycroft may have sent her a stern look, but he said nothing.

**SHERLOCK: Centuries old. Don’t wanna break that.**

“Maybe if you didn’t sneak up on her and scare her, she wouldn’t have almost smashed it!” Molly scolded the television version of Sherlock.

**He slowly straightens up and hands the teapot back to her. As she takes it, he reaches out and flicks a switch on the desk, turning on the lights underneath the surface. He smiles slightly at her.**

**SHERLOCK: Hello.**

*****

**John has now arrived, and he and Soo Lin sit on stools on opposite sides of the table. Sherlock stands at the end of the table.**

**SOO LIN: You saw the cipher. Then you know he is coming for me.**

**SHERLOCK: You’ve been clever to avoid him so far.**

“Yeah, how _did_ she do that?” Anderson asked, “Did you ever find out?” he asked John.

The doctor shook his head. “I just guessed it was because she knew how he worked and could think a few steps ahead of him, but we never found out really how.”

Anderson nodded, looking slightly disappointed.

**SOO LIN: I had to finish ... to finish this work. It’s only a matter of time. I know he will find me.**

**SHERLOCK: Who is he? Have you met him before?**

**SOO LIN (nodding): When I was a girl, living back in China. I recognize his ... ‘signature.’**

**SHERLOCK: The cipher.**

**SOO LIN: Only he would do this. Zhi Zhu.**

**JOHN: Zhi Zhu?**

**SHERLOCK: The Spider.**

“Well, that’s sure a friendly name,” Sally said sarcastically.

**Putting her right foot up on her opposite knee, Soo Lin unlaces her shoe and takes it off. On the underside of her heel is a black tattoo of a lotus flower inside a circle.**

**SOO LIN: You know this mark?**

**SHERLOCK: Yes. It’s the mark of a Tong.**

“The mark of the what?” Anderson asked.

**JOHN: Hmm?**

**SHERLOCK: Ancient crime syndicate based in China.**

“Oh. That’s not good.”

**John nods his understanding and turns back to Soo Lin.**

**SOO LIN: Every foot soldier bears the mark; everyone who hauls for them.**

**JOHN: “Hauls”?**

“A smuggler, John,” Mrs. Hudson explained.

“Yes,” John groaned, “I know that, _now_.”

**She looks up at him. His eyes widen.**

**JOHN: Y-you mean you were a smuggler?**

“Of course! How else could she have been involved?” Sally questioned. Her tone was cold.

**She lowers her gaze and puts her shoe back on.**

**SOO LIN: I was fifteen. My parents were dead. I had no livelihood; no way of surviving day to day except to work for the bosses.**

**SHERLOCK: Who are they?**

**SOO LIN: They are called the Black Lotus. By the time I was sixteen, I was taking thousands of pounds’ worth of drugs across the border into Hong Kong. But I managed to leave that life behind me. I came to England.**

**She smiles a little.**

**SOO LIN: They gave me a job here. Everything was good; a new life.**

**SHERLOCK: Then he came looking for you.**

“Is it just me, or does he almost seem…comforting right now?” Sally said with a raised eyebrow, staring at the usually stone-faced detective on the screen.

**SOO LIN: Yes.**

**Upset, she swallows before continuing tearfully.**

**SOO LIN: I had hoped after five years maybe they would have forgotten me, but they never really let you leave. A small community like ours – they are never very far away.**

**She wipes tears from her face.**

**SOO LIN: He came to my flat. He asked me to help him to track down something that was stolen.**

**JOHN: And you’ve no idea what it was?**

**SOO LIN: I refused to help.**

**JOHN (leaning forward): So, you knew him well when you were living back in China?**

“Very well, as it turns out, but not enough to save her,” John said sadly.

**She nods.**

**SOO LIN: Oh yes.**

**She looks up at Sherlock.**

**SOO LIN: He’s my brother.**

“Oh. I wasn’t expecting that!” Anderson shouted in surprise.

“It was obvious, wasn’t it?” Mycroft inquired. He seemed almost bored.

“Maybe to _you_!” Anderson replied.

**Elsewhere, the hands of what is presumably a woman wearing black nail varnish open a box and fold back the tissue paper covering the contents. The box contains sheets of black paper. The hands take out the top sheet and lay it on the table.**

**SOO LIN: Two orphans. We had no choice. We could work for the Black Lotus or starve on the streets like beggars.**

“That’s pretty sad,” Molly said. Her eyes were filling with tears for the children.

**The hands have folded the sheet of paper a few times, pressing down to set the folds, and now open the sheet out flat again. They fold one of the corners up, then turn the paper around to start folding up the opposite corner.**

**SOO LIN: My brother has become their puppet, in the power of the one they call Shan – the Black Lotus general.**

**The hands continue folding the paper.**

**SOO LIN: I turned my brother away. He said I had betrayed him. Next day I came to work, and the cipher was waiting.**

**The hands have nearly completed their work and the paper is now folded into an intricate shape.**

**In the museum, Sherlock lays the photographs on the table.**

**SHERLOCK: Can you decipher these?**

**Soo Lin leans forward and points to the mark beside Sir William’s portrait.**

**SOO LIN: These are numbers.**

“We already know that! Get on with it!” Sally was growing impatient if it wasn’t already obvious.

“She didn’t know that we knew that already, Donovan! On top of that, her life was in danger! Give her a break!”

**SHERLOCK: Yes, I know.**

**SOO LIN (pointing to another photograph): Here: the line across the man’s eyes – it’s the Chinese number one.**

**SHERLOCK (pointing to the first photo): And this one is fifteen. But what’s the code?**

**SOO LIN: All the smugglers know it. It’s based upon a book ...**

**Just then almost all the lights go out. Soo Lin looks up in dread. Sherlock straightens up and looks around sharply.**

**SOO LIN (softly, her face full of terror): He’s here. Zhi Zhu. He has found me.**

“They’re running out of time! Someone should tell her to hurry up!” Sally screamed at the television, suddenly much more invested in the proceedings.

**And Sherlock’s off, racing across the room. John calls to him softly but urgently.**

**JOHN: Sh-Sherlock. Sherlock, wait!**

“Too late, John. He’s gone,” Molly said. “That was Sherlock. Either in a hurry or just sits on the couch for hours without moving.” She sniffed, swiping at her nose with the back of one hand.

**Sherlock charges out of the room. John turns to Soo Lin and grabs her hand.**

**JOHN: Come here.**

**He pulls her across the room towards another room, or possibly a cupboard – it’s not clear which.**

**JOHN: Get in. Get in!**

**Sherlock races across a large open foyer with a staircase at each end and a balcony surrounding the floor above. He stops in the middle of the foyer and looks around. From his right, a figure runs across the balcony and fires a pistol at him. Sherlock turns and runs in the opposite direction, flinging himself to the floor and sliding along it to take shelter behind a statue on a low plinth. The figure fires a couple more times as Sherlock scrambles behind the plinth. In the restoration room, John looks up at the sound of gunfire, then turns to Soo Lin.**

**JOHN: I have to go and help. Bolt the door after me.**

**He hurries off. Soo Lin’s face fills with dread. John makes his way cautiously out into the foyer, then ducks and runs for cover as more gunshots ring out. The figure runs back across the balcony and disappears from view. Sherlock comes out from behind the plinth and hares across the foyer and up the stairs. John peers out from behind a column at the other end of the foyer as Sherlock reaches the top of the stairs and tears around the corner. He pelts into another display room and the gunman runs out of cover behind him and fires towards him again. Sherlock ducks behind a display cabinet displaying some ancient skulls as the figure fires again.**

**SHERLOCK (calling out): Careful!**

“Why would he say that?” Lestrade asked, looking carefully at the screen.

**The gunman fires again.**

**SHERLOCK (calling out): Some of those skulls are over two hundred thousand years old! Have a bit of respect!**

**He pauses for a couple of seconds, breathing heavily. There are no more gunshots.**

**SHERLOCK: Thank you!**

“Seriously, Sherlock?” Molly asked, giggling.

“Well, he’s not wrong,” John pointed out.

“Who knew that the freak would be concerned about something like this?” Sally asked, grumbling.

**There’s no more sound from the gunman. After a moment Sherlock frowns, then carefully peers through the glass of the case.**

**In the restoration room, Soo Lin looks up anxiously. Soo Lin takes a shaky breath and slowly begins to crawl out of her hiding place. On the desk, paperwork is fluttering in a slight breeze. Soo Lin crawls to the edge of the table and peers over the top of it before slowly standing up. Behind her, a Chinese man a little older than her silently walks up and stops just behind her, staring at her intently. As if sensing him, she turns slowly around and then gazes at him with affection when she recognizes him. She softly greets him by name.**

**SOO LIN:** **亮** **[Liang.]**

**She hesitates for a moment.**

**SOO LIN:** **大哥** **[Big brother.]**

**She reaches out and cups his face with her hand.**

**SOO LIN:** **请你** **[Please…]**

“Oh, the poor dear…” Mrs. Hudson muttered, reaching into her pocket to pull out a tissue and blowing into it.

**As John continues to search for his friend, a single gunshot rings out in the distance. He turns towards the sound, his face filling with appalled horror when he realizes where the shot has come from.**

**JOHN: Oh my God.**

John looked down, knowing that her death was his fault. Luckily, Mrs. Hudson knew that look.

“Oh, John dear. It wasn’t your fault that the poor girl died. If you’d have been there, I fear that he would’ve shot you, too,” she said, trying to comfort him.

**He races back to the stairs and runs down them, across the foyer and back to the restoration room. Entering the room, he slows down and looks around cautiously for any sign of the gunman. Carefully making his way across the room, he stops and then groans in despair and guilt at the sight which greets him. Soo Lin lies dead on the table, her outstretched arm revealing a black origami lotus flower in her upturned hand.**

*****

**NEW SCOTLAND YARD. John and Sherlock are standing a short distance away from Dimmock who has his back to them and is rummaging through paperwork on a desk as if trying to ignore them.**

**JOHN: How many murders is it gonna take before you start believing that this maniac’s out there?**

“At least Lestrade is smart enough to listen to Sherlock when he says something!” John said with a sigh.

“Well, thanks,” Lestrade replied, though his voice was hesitant as if he couldn’t tell whether it was a compliment or not.

**Dimmock turns and walks in between them, heading for another desk. John turns around and follows him.**

**JOHN: A young girl was gunned down tonight. That’s three victims in three days. You’re supposed to be finding him.**

“See? At least Sherlock is finding him! And doing a better job than that useless detective!” Anderson shouted in defence of his idol.

**Sherlock walks across in front of John to get closer to Dimmock. John steps back and walks a few paces away in exasperation.**

**SHERLOCK: Brian Lukis and Eddie Van Coon were working for a gang of international smugglers – a gang called the Black Lotus operating here in London right under your nose.**

**He has leaned closer to Dimmock to emphasize his last point. Dimmock finally looks round to him.**

**DIMMOCK: Can you prove that?**

“Did he seriously just ask that question?” John asked.

A few others nodded.

“Oh, he’s in for it, now,” he said.

**Sherlock straightens up thoughtfully.**

“What did I tell you?” John asked after the screen went black again. “The next bit is going to show Sherlock when he tells Dimmock all about how and where and when and why.”

Suddenly, words appear on the black screen. It wasn’t a surprise to the viewers at this point, but the words were what threw everyone off. _“No, John. Actually, there is no footage of Sherlock ripping into Dimmock about proving this case. We just skip ahead to him actually showing it. That’s where Molly comes in.”_

“Molly?” Lestrade asked.

The others in the room all turned to the woman in question. She shrunk back into her seat on the couch. She abruptly stood.

“I think I’ll go…freshen up a bit. Um…” she was about to turn and leave, but then remembered that she couldn’t. No problem, though, because suddenly, a new door appeared on the wall. More words flashed onto the screen.

_“Just head through here. Take as much time as you need.”_

Molly nodded, though her eyes held suspicion, and she went through the door, closing it and locking it behind her. Noe all they had to do was wait.

“You know, I think I’ll go, too,” John said. Another door appeared, and John stood to use the washroom as well.

“I’ll take it after you. If anything, to just stretch my legs a bit,” Lestrade told John before the disappeared into the room.

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	15. 1x2 Part 6 - The Blind Banker

As soon as everyone had taken a break in the restroom and returned to their seats, they were ready to continue. The next scene appeared.

**ST BARTHOLOMEW’S HOSPITAL. In the canteen, mortician Molly Hooper is looking at the choices in the self-service display.**

**SHERLOCK: What are you thinking: pork or the pasta?**

“Seriously? He asked you a question like that?”

**She turns in surprise at his voice beside her.**

**MOLLY: Oh, it’s you!**

**SHERLOCK: This place is never going to trouble Egon Ronay, is it?**

**He smiles at her, then nods to the display.**

**SHERLOCK: I’d stick with the pasta. Don’t wanna be doing roast pork – not if you’re slicing up cadavers.**

**Again, he smiles at her. She grins nervously.**

**MOLLY: What are you having?**

**SHERLOCK: Don’t eat when I’m working. Digesting slows me down.**

**MOLLY: So, you’re working here tonight?**

**SHERLOCK: Need to examine some bodies.**

**MOLLY: “Some”?**

**SHERLOCK: Eddie Van Coon and Brian Lukis.**

**MOLLY (looking at the clipboard she’s holding): They’re on my list.**

“He already knows that,” Sally pointed out.

**Sherlock turns puppy-dog eyes on her.**

**SHERLOCK: Could you wheel them out again for me?**

“I knew it. He’s just using you. He knows how much you like him, and he uses it to manipulate you,” Sally sneered.

**MOLLY (apologetically): Well ... the paperwork’s already gone through.**

**Sherlock lifts his eyes a little as if noticing something, and points at her hair.**

**SHERLOCK: You’ve ... changed your hair.**

**MOLLY (nervously): What?**

**SHERLOCK: The-the style: it’s usually parted in the middle.**

**MOLLY: Yes, well ...**

**SHERLOCK: Mmm, it’s good; it, um, suits you better this way.**

“And there is Sherlock’s emotional manipulation at its finest,” Sally said with a glare at the man on screen.

“Hard to believe that he was really bad at sensing everyone else’s emotions all the time, huh?” Lestrade asked.

“But do you notice how he can only tell how Molly is feeling?” Mrs. Hudson pointed out, “Besides, he’d never notice something like that with anyone else.”

“He must have it stored in the ‘Molly’ wing of his Mind Palace,” John grumbled.

Molly blushed at the insinuation.

**Once again, he wheels out the smile. She returns it, looking both flattered and flustered, then turns away to the display, smiling nervously. Instantly Sherlock’s smile drops, and he looks impatiently at his watch.**

“Well, now it’s really obvious.”

*****

**MORGUE. Later, two body bags are lying on adjacent tables. Molly, wearing latex gloves, unzips the top of one of the bags and pulls the sides apart to reveal the face of Brian Lukis. Sherlock leads Dimmock into the room.**

**SHERLOCK: We’re just interested in the feet.**

**MOLLY (frowning): The feet?**

**SHERLOCK: Yes. D’you mind if we have a look at them?**

**Smiling at her, he leads Dimmock to the other end of the body bag. Molly follows him and unzips the bag at that end, pulling the sides back to reveal the bottom of Lukis’ feet. On the bottom of the right heel is a tattoo identical to the one which Soo Lin showed the boys earlier. Sherlock straightens up, a smug expression on his face, and walks over to the other table.**

**SHERLOCK: Now Van Coon.**

**Molly and Dimmock follow him to the second table, and she unzips the other body bag. Van Coon has an identical tattoo on his right heel. Dimmock sighs silently.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh!**

**DIMMOCK (awkwardly): So ...**

**SHERLOCK: So, either these two men just happened to visit the same Chinese tattoo parlour or I’m telling the truth.**

**DIMMOCK (sighing in resignation): What do you want?**

**SHERLOCK: I want every book from Lukis’ apartment and Van Coon’s.**

**DIMMOCK: Their books?**

“Why their books?” Anderson asked.

“Idiot,” Sally grumbled, “Because they have the same book to decipher the code.”

“Oh.”

*****

**221B. The boys walk into the living room, taking off their coats. John sits down in his chair; Sherlock remains standing.**

**SHERLOCK: Not just a criminal organization; it’s a cult. Her brother was corrupted by one of its leaders.**

**JOHN: Soo Lin said the name.**

**SHERLOCK: Yes, Shan; General Shan.**

“What ever happened to General Shan? The police never found her,” Lestrade asked.

John shrugged. “I dunno, but seeing as we see more than just me and Sherlock in these videos, maybe we’ll find out.”

**JOHN: We’re still no closer to finding them.**

**SHERLOCK: Wrong. We’ve got almost all we need to know. She gave us most of the missing pieces.**

“All he has to do now is put the puzzle together. Problem is, with this case, he has all the pieces, but he’s trying to fit them together in the dark,” John said.

**He looks at John, waiting for him to agree. When John says nothing, he impatiently explains.**

**SHERLOCK: Why did he need to visit his sister? Why did he need her expertise?**

**JOHN: She worked at the museum.**

**SHERLOCK: Exactly.**

**JOHN (finally catching up): An expert in antiquities. Mmm, of course. I see.**

**SHERLOCK: Valuable antiquities, John. Ancient Chinese relics purchased on the black market. China’s home to a thousand treasures hidden after Mao’s revolution.**

**JOHN: And the Black Lotus is selling them.**

**Sherlock tilts his head as he has an idea.**

“It’s a little hard to tell since it’s so subtle, but it seems that Sherlock is training John to be a detective just like him.”

“Very subtle, but I think you’re right,” Lestrade agreed with Molly.

*****

**Not long afterwards, he is sitting at the dining table surfing Crispians’ website for recent auctions, focusing on the auctions of Chinese and other Asian works of art. John is leaning over his shoulder to look at the screen.**

**SHERLOCK (to himself as he skims through the list): Check for the dates ...**

**He points to an auction lot – two Chinese Ming vases.**

**SHERLOCK: Here, John.**

**JOHN: Mmm.**

**SHERLOCK: Arrived from China four days ago.**

**He runs his finger down the details and looks at the Sale Information at the bottom which includes the statement “Source – Anonymous.”**

**SHERLOCK: Anonymous. Vendor doesn’t give his name. Two undiscovered treasures from the East.**

**JOHN: One in Lukis’ suitcase and one in Van Coon’s.**

**Sherlock moves to the Quest search site and types into the search bar, narrating as he does so, although he actually types the word “Chinese” first.**

**SHERLOCK: ... antiquities sold at auction.**

**The results list comes up.**

**SHERLOCK: Look, here’s another one.**

**JOHN: Mmm.**

**SHERLOCK: Arrived from China a month ago: Chinese ceramic statue, sold four hundred thousand.**

**JOHN (consulting Lukis’ diary after he spots another entry on the screen): Ah, look: a month before that – a Chinese painting, half a million.**

**SHERLOCK: All of them from an anonymous source. They’re stealing them back in China and one by one they’re feeding them into Britain.**

**JOHN: Huh.**

“Ever the eloquent blogger, aren’t you, John?” Mycroft asked, amused.

**He looks at Lukis’ diary again and then at the printout of Van Coon’s calendar.**

**JOHN: And every single auction coincides with Lukis or Van Coon travelling to China.**

**SHERLOCK: So, what if one of them got greedy when they were in China? What if one of them stole something?**

**JOHN: That’s why Zhi Zhu’s come.**

**Mrs. Hudson knocks on the open door of the living room.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Ooh-ooh!**

**The boys turn to her.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Sorry. Are we collecting for charity, Sherlock?**

**SHERLOCK: What?**

“What?” repeated most of the audience.

**MRS. HUDSON: A young man’s outside with crates of books.**

“Did you really think that, or were you just being sarcastic?” John asked, turning to his – once – landlady.

“Why wouldn’t she be serious?” Molly interjected before the old woman could answer.

The others turned to her in exasperation. “Why would _Sherlock_ of all people be collecting books for charity?” John questioned the pathologist.

“I mean, he _could_ , theoretically…” Molly trailed off, words dying in the back of her throat.

*****

**Shortly afterwards, two uniformed police officers are carrying in yet another plastic crate to add to the many which have already been dumped in the living room.**

**SHERLOCK: So, the numbers are references.**

**JOHN: To books.**

**SHERLOCK: To specific pages and specific words on those pages.**

**JOHN: Right, so ... fifteen and one: that means ...**

**SHERLOCK: Turn to page fifteen and it’s the first word you read.**

**JOHN: Okay. So, what’s the message?**

**SHERLOCK (snarkily): Depends on the book. That’s the cunning of the book code. Has to be one that they both owned.**

**John looks around despairingly at the many many crates in the room, each either labelled “Van Coon” or “Lukis.”**

“Well, that’s going to take a while. Sorry, old fellow!” Lestrade clapped John on the back.

“I should’ve been used to it at that point,” John muttered.

“Why do you keep helping the freak with his bloody work, anyway? You already _have_ a job!” Sally asked. To her, John seemed a lunatic, but to him, it appeared to not be so, or else he wouldn’t have given her a look that couldn’t have said anything but: _“Are you crazy?”_ as if _she_ was the one digging through thousands of books for an eccentric flatmate instead of sleeping peacefully through the night. In the end, she just rolled her eyes and looked back at the screen, as if she’d never voiced her question in the first place, though her curiosity still stood, unquenched.

**JOHN: Okay, right. Well, this shouldn’t take too long, should it?!**

**He goes over to the nearest crate and flips open the lid, sighing tiredly when he sees the number of books inside. Sherlock opens another crate and starts taking out books, looking at the cover of each one. John takes a handful from his crate and carries them over to the dining table and sits down. Dimmock walks in and holds up an evidence bag to Sherlock.**

**DIMMOCK: We found these, at the museum.**

**He shows the bag to John. It contains the photographs of the cipher which Sherlock had been showing to Soo Lin.**

**DIMMOCK: Is this your writing?**

“I now realize that he probably saw the writing and if only I’d looked closer, we’d never have had this problem,” John said, aggravated.

He received baffled expressions from the others but ignored them. They’d find out eventually, anyway; no point in ruining the surprise.

**JOHN (taking the bag): Uh, we hoped Soo Lin could decipher it for us. Ta.**

**Dimmock nods and turns back to Sherlock, who is still unloading his crate.**

**DIMMOCK: Anything else I can do? To assist you, I mean?**

Lestrade sighed, pressing his forehead into his left hand, elbow resting on his knee.

Anderson put a hand on his shoulder, looking over at his former boss with concern but also slight amusement. There was a twinkle in his eyes as he said, “Don’t worry. He’s still green. He’ll learn eventually.”

Lestrade nodded, but still did not move.

**SHERLOCK (without looking up): Some silence right now would be marvellous.**

**Dimmock stares at him, then looks across to John, who shakes his head apologetically. Biting his lip and trying not to cry at not being allowed to play with the big boys, Dimmock turns and leaves the room.**

**Sherlock takes out a book from a crate and realizes that he’s already got one like it from another crate. He puts them side by side – hard backed copies of Iain Banks’ “Transition.” Opening one of them to page fifteen, he looks at the first word on the page and then narrates the word in exasperated disappointment.**

**SHERLOCK: “Cigarette.”**

**Slamming the book closed, he puts both versions on top of the pile on the desk.**

John sighed. “I wish we could just skip this whole thing. It’s just unnecessary grunt work at this point, seeing as Soo Lin did the real work for us already without us realizing it.”

“Well, that’s just the worst feeling in the world, isn’t it?” Molly asked with an airy, hesitant chuckle.

**JOHN: Ah.**

**Sherlock goes back to rummaging through crates while John puts his pile onto the floor and crosses the room to get more books from a crate. Time moves on and later Sherlock finds two more identical books, “Freakonomics,” from the two men’s collections. He flicks to page fifteen, which is the beginning of a chapter headed “What Do Schoolteachers and Sumo Wrestlers Have in Common?” Moving down to the first word of the chapter, he reads it and then looks up in frustration.**

**SHERLOCK: “Imagine.”**

**Again, he dumps the two books on John’s pile. Time moves on again and now it’s day time. Sherlock has removed his jacket and John has taken off his cardigan but they’re still in the same positions we last saw them. Again, time moves on and now the daylight is even brighter outside. Books are scattered everywhere over the table and the floor and some of the crates have been shifted about. As Sherlock runs his fingers through his hair and then looks around at the crates and sighs, an alarm goes off on John’s watch. He looks at it and then out of the window as if to confirm that it really is the morning. He sighs tiredly and buries his head in his hands.**

*****

**DOCTORS’ SURGERY. The receptionist looks up apologetically at the first person in a queue of patients waiting to speak to her.**

“Hey, isn’t that the office you’d just applied for, John?” Anderson asked.

“Err, yeah.”

**RECEPTIONIST: I’m sorry to keep you waiting.**

**Someone in the queue sighs pointedly.**

**RECEPTIONIST: But we haven’t got anything now ’til next Thursday.**

**The woman at the front of the queue turns aside with an exasperated look on her face.**

**WOMAN’s VOICE (offscreen): This is taking ages.**

**RECEPTIONIST: Er, sorry.**

**Sarah Sawyer has been walking through the waiting room but now turns back and comes over to the reception.**

**WOMAN’s VOICE (offscreen): What’s the point of making an appointment if they can’t even stick to it?**

**SARAH (to the receptionist): Um, what’s going on?**

**RECEPTIONIST (quietly): That new doctor you hired – he hasn’t buzzed the intercom for ages.**

“John?” Molly asked.

“Hmm?”

“Did you fall asleep on the job because you stayed up all night with Sherlock looking at books?”

“Umm…”

“Okay. I’ll take that as a yes. Why?”

John was at a loss for words.

**SARAH: Let me go and have a word.**

**RECEPTIONIST: Yeah, thanks.**

**SARAH (to the queue as she walks away): ’Scuse me.**

**RECEPTIONIST (to the queue): Sorry.**

**WOMAN’s VOICE (offscreen): What did she just say?**

**Sarah goes to John’s consulting room and knocks on the door.**

**SARAH: John?**

**She waits a few seconds but gets no reply.**

**SARAH: John?**

**When there’s still no reply, she opens the door and looks inside. John is sitting behind the desk, his head propped up on one fist, and is fast asleep and snoring gently.**

“I was wondering why you got fired. Guess this explains it,” Anderson mused.

John groaned.

*****

**Much later, he comes out of his consulting room putting on his coat and walks over to Sarah who is standing behind the reception desk. He clears his throat awkwardly.**

**JOHN: Um, looks like I’m done. I thought I had some more to see.**

**SARAH: Oh, I did one or two of yours.**

**JOHN: One or two?**

**SARAH: Well, maybe five or six.**

**JOHN: I’m sorry. That’s not very professional.**

**SARAH: No. No, not really.**

**JOHN: I had, um, a bit of a late one.**

**SARAH: Oh, right.**

**JOHN: Anyway, see you.**

**He turns to walk away.**

**SARAH: So, um, what were you doing to keep you up so late?**

**JOHN (turning back to her): Uh, I was, er, attending a sort of book event.**

“Well, that’s one way to put it,” Sally grumbled under her breath.

**SARAH: Oh. Oh, she likes books, does she, your ... your girlfriend?**

Lestrade let out a laugh. “Don’t let Sherlock find out about this!”

**She looks down fake-nonchalantly.**

**JOHN: Mmm? No, it wasn’t a date.**

**SARAH (too quickly): Good. (She rapidly tries to cover.) I mean, um ...**

**JOHN: And I don’t have one tonight.**

**They smile at each other, John looking down almost in disbelief as if thinking, ‘Oh good grief, I’ve just pulled!’**

“Good for you, John! But what about Sherlock?” Mrs. Hudson asked.

“For the last time, Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock was _not_ my _boyfriend_!”

*****

**221B. Sherlock is still working on the crates but now tries a different tack.**

**SHERLOCK: A book that everybody would own.**

**He turns to his bookcase and pulls down the Concise Oxford English Dictionary, the Holy Bible and a third book which we can’t see the title of. Putting them on top of the nearest crate, he opens the dictionary to the correct page.**

**SHERLOCK: Fifteen. Entry one.**

**The word is “add”. He moves on to the last book he took down. The first word on page 15 is “nostrils”. Putting that aside and flicking to page 15 of the Bible, partway through the Book of Genesis, the first word is “I”. As he closes the book, and John’s bedroom door slams shut, he props his elbows on the crate and runs his fingers through his hair, ruffling it up. I’m sure this has nothing to do with the imminent arrival of his flatmate, who now walks into the room having changed into clean clothes.**

“Tough luck,” Anderson said with a sigh.

**SHERLOCK: I need to get some air. We’re going out tonight.**

**JOHN: Actually, I’ve, er, got a date.**

**He smiles smugly.**

**SHERLOCK: What?**

**JOHN: It’s where two people who like each other go out and have fun.**

**SHERLOCK: That’s what I was suggesting.**

“Does anyone else get the feeling that Sherlock actually knows what he’s saying and just wants to date John, but is suggesting it subtly?” Anderson asked. His eyes flashed in the anticipation of one of his theories being true. If only someone else agreed with him.

John shook his head, as did Molly and Lestrade.

“No,” Lestrade said, “If that was the case, then why would he tell John right away that he was married to his work? And also, Sherlock’s, well… Sherlock, and he’s not good with emotional relationships.”

Anderson all but deflated. “Oh,” he mumbled into his chest.

**JOHN: No, it wasn’t ... at least I hope not.**

**SHERLOCK (looking sulky): Where are you taking her?**

**JOHN: Er, cinema.**

“Sherlock’s not going to like that!” Molly cried.

“Why not?” the others turned to her.

“It’s such a cliché place to take a girl on the first date!” she replied, “ _Of course_ , he won’t like it. You know how he is.”

**SHERLOCK: Oh, dull, boring, predictable.**

John put his hands in the air, palms facing away from him, “Fine! I admit it! You know Sherlock best!”

**He has taken a piece of paper from his trouser pocket as he walks across to John and lowers his head to hide a smug smile before handing it to him.**

**SHERLOCK: Why don’t you try this?**

**John takes it and looks at the piece of paper, which is the strip of poster that Sherlock tore off the wall during the search for the yellow paint. The poster advertises the Yellow Dragon Circus and gives the telephone number of the Box Office.**

“Didn’t that turn into a kidnapping?” Lestrade asked as he turned to John, looking for confirmation from the shorter man. John just shrugged. “Yeah.”

**SHERLOCK: In London for one night only.**

**John chuckles then offers the paper back to Sherlock.**

**JOHN: Thanks, but I don’t come to you for dating advice.**

*****

**EVENING. John and Sarah are walking up the slope towards a building.**

**SARAH: It’s years since anyone took me to the circus.**

**JOHN (chuckling nervously): Right, yes! Well, it’s ... a friend recommended it to me. He phoned up.**

**SARAH: Ah. What are they, a touring company or something?**

**JOHN: I don’t know much about it.**

“You’re still trying to act cool in front of your girl by putting it off on Sherlock! I’ve seen that trick being used hundreds of times, and I’m sure Sarah has, too. It doesn’t really work,” Donovan said.

**They pause and look at a number of large red Chinese lanterns strung outside the hall.**

**SARAH: I think they’re probably from China!**

**JOHN: Yes, I think ... I think so, yes. (Quietly) There’s a coincidence!**

**They go inside to the Box Office where the manager is giving a customer her tickets.**

**CUSTOMER: That’s wonderful. Thank you very much.**

**MANAGER: Okay.**

**(The customer turns and walks up the nearby stairs and John goes over to the office.)**

**JOHN: Hi. I have, er, two tickets reserved for tonight.**

**MANAGER: And what’s the name?**

**JOHN (taking his wallet from his jacket): Er, Holmes.**

**The manager rifles through the reservations then turns back to him with an envelope.**

**MANAGER: Actually, I have three in that name.**

“Don’t tell me,” Lestrade said, grinning at the screen, “Sherlock was being Sherlock again.”

John nodded.

**JOHN: No, I don’t think so. We only booked two.**

**SHERLOCK (offscreen): And then I phoned back and got one for myself as well.**

**John looks up in disbelief and turns as Sherlock walks over to them, looking at Sarah. He offers her his hand.**

**SHERLOCK: I’m Sherlock.**

**Sarah glances at John momentarily, then turns back to the new arrival and shakes his hand a little nervously. John turns away in exasperation.**

“That must be awkward,” Molly said, staring sympathetically at the girl on the screen. She was lucky. At least she _could_ go on a date with John and Sherlock. Well, not with Sherlock directly, but that’s sort of how it ended up being.

**SARAH: Er, hi.**

**SHERLOCK: Hello.**

**He gives her his fake smile, then instantly turns and walks away.**

*****

**Not long afterwards the boys are standing a few steps up the stairs while people make their way past them. Sarah isn’t with them – presumably, she has nipped off to the loo. The boys keep their voices down as they talk.**

**JOHN: You couldn’t let me have just one night off?**

**SHERLOCK: Yellow Dragon Circus, in London for one day. It fits. The Tong sent an assassin to England ...**

**JOHN: ... dressed as a tightrope walker. Come on, Sherlock, behave!**

**SHERLOCK: We’re looking for a killer who can climb, who can shin up a rope. Where else would you find that level of dexterity? Exit visas are scarce in China. They need a pretty good reason to get out of that country. Now, all I need to do is have a quick look round the place ...**

**JOHN: Fine. You do that; I’m gonna take Sarah for a pint.**

**SHERLOCK (sternly): I need your help.**

“Sherlock!” Mrs. Hudson scolded gently.

**JOHN: I do have a couple of other things on my mind this evening!**

**SHERLOCK: Like what?**

“Oh, dear God! I feel like he’s doing that on purpose!” Donovan sneered. “Who would be so cruel?”

“Ms. Donovan, he is not. My brother may be a genius, but in some areas, he’s completely and utterly clueless.” Mycroft’s voice rose softly above the sergeant’s.

**John blinks, staring at him in disbelief.**

**JOHN: You are kidding.**

**SHERLOCK: What’s so important?**

**JOHN: Sherlock, I’m right in the middle of a date. D’you want me to chase some killer while I’m trying to ...**

**He breaks off.**

**SHERLOCK: What?**

John groaned. “I sometimes think that he’s not clueless at all, and he’s just trying to rub me up the wrong way, but other times, it’s too infuriating for him to realize just how he is.”

**JOHN (losing his patience and talking much louder): ... while I’m trying to get off with Sarah!**

**And inevitably Sarah comes around the corner at that moment. John turns to her and smiles awkwardly.)**

**JOHN: Heyyy.**

Laughter broke out between the three Yarders.

“Oh, my God, John! You poor man!” Anderson bellowed between bursts of laughter. By the end, the three were panting, holding their chests as they tried to regain their breath.

**Rolling his eyes, Sherlock turns and heads up the stairs.**

**JOHN (to Sarah): Ready?**

**SARAH: Yeah!**

**They follow Sherlock up the stairs.**

“Well, we still don’t know what’s going on, but one thing is clear,” Anderson declared.

“And what’s that, Anderson?” Lestrade asked.

“Sherlock Holmes may be the world’s greatest detective, but he’s also the world’s _worst_ wingman!” Anderson then dissolved into laughter once more at John’s expense.

The others shrugged; he wasn’t wrong.

“So, what do we do until the next segment begins?” Mycroft posed, raising a single eyebrow. He was still seated perfectly, posture stiff and umbrella poised in front of him, gripping under thick fingers. The point must’ve already worn a dip in the thick, fuzzy carpet, but it would be impossible to tell until the umbrella was moved.

He didn’t have to wait for an answer, as the screen glowed again, smoothly sliding right into the next scene without too long of a break.

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	16. 1x2 Part 7 - The Blind Banker

It was bright white for a span of three seconds before softy transitioning into the next scene.

**In the performance area, there’s a stage on one side of the large hall and the curtains are closed. However, it seems that the stage is not going to be used: a circle of candles has been laid out in the middle of the floor, about thirty feet in diameter. The room is dimly lit. The patrons are gathering around the circle but there are no seats. Apparently, the number of tickets has been limited and there’s room for everyone to stand around the circle with a clear view. Sarah and John stand side by side while Sherlock stands behind them with his back to them, looking all around the room and peering up to the ceiling. John talks quietly over his shoulder to his flatmate, turning his head away from Sarah so that she can’t hear.**

**JOHN: You said circus. This is not a circus. Look at the size of this crowd. Sherlock, this is ... (he grimaces with distaste) ... art.**

“What did you mean by that, John?” Mrs. Hudson asked the man.

He shrugged in return. “I guess it’s just because circuses are always so…full and lively? With lots of young children and snacks and such?”

The old woman nodded.

**SHERLOCK (quietly over his shoulder): This is not their day job.**

**JOHN: No, sorry, I forgot. They’re not a circus; they’re a gang of international smugglers.**

“There you go, John. You were starting to get it at that point,” Lestrade jested.

**The performance begins with someone tapping out a rhythm on a tiny hand drum. Sherlock turns to face the same way as his companions and John looks over his shoulder at him. Sherlock quirks an eyebrow at him. An ornately costumed Chinese woman with a heavily painted face – traditionally known as the Opera Singer – walks into the centre of the circle and looks imperiously out at the audience before raising a hand in the air. The drummer finishes his riff. The Opera Singer walks across the circle to a large object covered with a cloth which she now pulls back to reveal an antique-looking crossbow on a stand. She picks up a long thick wooden arrow with white feathers at one end and a vicious metal point at the other and shows it to the audience before fitting it into place in the crossbow. Straightening up, she pulls a single small white feather from her headdress and again shows it to the audience. On the rear of the crossbow is a small metal cup and she gently drops the feather into it. Instantly the arrow is released and whizzes across the room. Sherlock’s head whips around to follow its flight while John and Sarah are still gasping at the sound of the arrow’s release. By the time they look round a moment later, the arrow is embedded in a large painted board on the other side of the circle. Sarah turns to John and laughs, dramatically putting her hand over her heart.**

**Instrumental music begins, and the audience applauds as a new character enters the circle, wearing chainmail and an ornate head mask. He holds his arms out to the sides and two men come over and start to attach heavy chains and straps to him, strapping his now-folded arms in front of him and then backing him up against the board and starting to chain him to it.**

“Ooh!” Molly cried, “This looks interesting!”

“Yeah., Too bad the freak didn’t invite you!” Donovan sneered at the younger girl.

Molly’s face fell, which elicited glares from the others, sent in Sally’s direction.

**SHERLOCK (softly): Classic Chinese escapology act.**

**John and Sarah turn to him.**

**JOHN: Hmm?**

**SHERLOCK: The crossbow’s on a delicate string. The warrior has to escape his bonds before it fires.**

“That’s obvious enough,” Donovan muttered.

**The Opera Singer loads another arrow into the crossbow. The men attach more padlocks and chains and one of them pulls a chain tight, yanking the warrior’s head back against the board. The warrior cries out. The men loop the chains through solid rings attached to the board and secure the warrior, who cries out again. Once they’ve finished, they step away. The music begins building in intensity and cymbals crash unexpectedly. Sarah jumps, clutching at John’s arm.**

**SARAH: Oh, Gawd! I’m sorry!**

“I bet John didn’t mind!” Lestrade said jovially.

The man in question sent him a glare, though it was obviously fake, as it treasonously broke into an amused grin.

**She laughs in embarrassment, taking his arm with her other hand as well. John laughs with her, then smiles delightedly as she lets go with her more distant hand but continues to hold onto his arm with the other. The Opera Singer picks up a small knife and displays it to the audience.**

**SHERLOCK (softly): She splits the sandbag; the sand pours out; gradually the weight lowers into the bowl.**

**The Opera Singer does just what Sherlock predicted – she reaches up to a small sandbag hanging on a long cable and stabs the knife into the bottom of the sack. Sand begins to pour out, and the warrior repeatedly cries out with effort as he tugs at his chains. The sandbag’s cable is looped over a pulley and a metal ball is attached to the other end. As the sand continues to pour out of the bag the weight lowers towards the bowl at the back of the crossbow. The warrior gets one hand free. John is watching the weight lower, and Sarah now looks nervously at it as it crosses paths with the sandbag on its way up. They turn to look at the warrior as he gets his other hand free and starts tugging at the chains around his neck. The weight is now only a few feet above the bowl and Sarah clings tightly to John’s arm, grimacing. The warrior cries out again as he pulls at his chains and the weight gets ever closer. As it almost reaches the lip of the bowl the warrior loosens the chains around his neck and struggles to free himself.**

**The weight touches the bowl and the arrow streaks across the room. With a split second to spare, the warrior pulls free of the chains and ducks down and the arrow thuds into the board. The warrior cries out triumphantly as the audience begins to applaud. Sarah gasps in relief.**

“Well.” Anderson breathes out a sigh of relief. “That was dramatic.”

“Indeed.” Mycroft shifted his umbrella and readjusted his posture. They were all shaken, and it seemed even he had tensed in anticipation of the act.

**SARAH: Thank God.**

**JOHN: My God!**

“Much better than the cinema! Don’t you agree?” Lestrade declared.

“Yes,” John replied. Even now, he was slightly out of Breath. “I’m sure glad Sherlock suggested it.” The second part, however, was slightly sarcastic, so subtle that not many people caught onto it.

**The warrior stands up and takes the applause. Still clapping, John looks over his shoulder, but Sherlock has vanished. John looks around the hall but can’t see him anywhere.**

“And, of course, Sherlock is sneaking away during the show. His true intentions reveal themselves, as they always do: too late!” John added with sarcasm.

**Sherlock has made his way onto the stage, which is being used as the performers’ dressing room. There’s a dressing table with mirrors, free-standing clothes rails and many other items all around. He looks at everything and notices that it’s almost as if another warrior is standing nearby – except that the chainmail and mask are hanging on a stand.**

**In the performance area, the Opera Singer raises a hand to halt the audience’s applause.**

**OPERA SINGER: Ladies and gentlemen, from the distant moonlight shores of the Yangtze River, we present for your pleasure the deadly Chinese bird-spider.**

**As she walks away, a masked acrobat descends from the ceiling, rolling through the air as the broad red band wrapped around his waist unravels. The audience applauds, and he stops a couple of feet above the ground, holding his body parallel to the floor.**

**JOHN (to Sarah): Did you see that?!**

**Descending to the floor, the acrobat removes the band from around his waist and splits it, revealing that it’s made up of two strips of material which he now wraps around his arms and then runs around the circle before taking his weight on the bands, lifting into the air and flying around in a circle several feet above the ground, the red bands soaring out behind him. Sarah and John – and presumably the rest of the audience – stare up open-mouthed.**

**On the stage, Sherlock goes over to the curtains and parts them slightly to look out at the performance. He looks with interest at the acrobat as he floats around.**

“That’s probably the spider that we heard about earlier,” Molly said.

“Well, yeah. That’s what she said before it began,” Anderson pointed out, giving Molly a strange look. He also looked kind of smug at [pointing out her “mistake”.

“No, I mean the girl’s brother. Who’s in control of the smuggling ring?” Molly replied, exasperated.

“Excellent deduction, Ms. Hooper. He is, indeed, and was the killer of the three of them,” Mycroft praised if only to cause a snarl to rip from Anderson’s throat and a sneer to twist his features.

**SHERLOCK (softly): Well, well.**

**To the right of the stage, a door opens. Sherlock runs to take cover, pushing through the middle of the clothes on the clothes rail and then quickly spreading the items out again as the Opera Singer comes onto the stage. She goes over to the dressing table and picks up a mobile phone, checking it, but looks around sharply when one of the hangars on the rail falls to the floor. Sherlock ducks down. The Opera Singer walks toward the rail and Sherlock crouches even lower but she continues on and leaves the stage. Sherlock looks down and sees a bag on the floor near his feet. Flipping it open, he finds several spray cans inside. He picks up one of them and sees that it is labelled “Michigan.” A yellow band is across the bottom of the can denoting the colour of the paint.**

**SHERLOCK (softly, in a sing-song voice): Found you.**

**Standing up, he pushes through the clothes on the rail and walks over to the mirrors on the dressing table, shaking up the can as he goes. He bends down and sprays a single almost-horizontal yellow line across one of the mirrors. As he looks at it, the warrior’s costume behind him starts to move. Frowning, he turns around and realizes that the costume is no longer on a stand and now has a man inside it. The man charges forward, lashing out at him repeatedly with a large knife. Sherlock ducks backwards to avoid the blows as the warrior presses forward.**

“Oh no! Sherlock!” Molly cried.

“Don’t worry. You already know he survives this,” John assured her, almost mutely.

She nodded, though it didn’t help to ease the tension coursing through her body at the scene unfolding before them on the screen.

**Outside, John and Sarah are still watching the acrobat. On the other side of the circle, the closed curtains on the stage begin to billow in one particular place. John frowns at the curtains for a moment but is then distracted back to the acrobat.**

**On the stage, Sherlock uses the can he’s holding as a bit of a weapon, using it to block a blow from the warrior, ducking below the next swing of the man’s knife, then clouting the can across the man’s elbow. The warrior responds by kicking him hard in the stomach.**

**Outside, the acrobat does a dramatic roll down the bands. The audience applauds. Unnoticed, the curtains billow even more.**

**The warrior grabs Sherlock by the throat but drops his knife in the process. Sherlock lashes the man’s hand away from the neck and then sprays the can directly into his masked face before bundling into him and shoving him away firmly. The warrior falls onto his back but uses his momentum to raise his legs and then roll forward and flip to his feet again. He takes a flying leap at Sherlock, spinning as he goes and his feet hit him in the chest. Sherlock is propelled backwards through the curtains, straight over the edge of the stage and onto the floor a few feet below. Crashing onto his back, he struggles to get upright again but is too winded and can’t move much as the warrior comes flying out of the curtains and onto the floor in front of him. John is on the move straight away, running towards the warrior as he raises a knife and prepares to plunge it downwards. John charges straight into him, pushing him back against the edge of the stage but the warrior lashes out with one foot, sending John stumbling across the room.**

**Nearby, as the audience flees, the acrobat takes off his mask, takes one look at the fight and decides he wants no part of it, running off. Only one person is heading towards the fight and that’s Sarah, who has pulled the large arrow from the painted board and comes charging across the hall while John is still stumbling across the floor trying to catch his balance and the warrior heads towards Sherlock who is still lying on the floor winded – and the warrior now has a wide-bladed sword in one hand. As he raises the sword above his head, his concentration focussed on delivering the killing blow to the man at his feet, Sarah races across the floor and slams one end of the arrow over the top of the warrior’s head. He cries out in pain and before he can react or retaliate she swings the arrow sideways and smashes it across his ribs. She instantly delivers a second blow to the same area and he falls to the ground, grunting and almost unconscious.**

**As Sarah straightens up, breathless, Sherlock finally gets off his lazy arse sits up and leans forward to the warrior’s right foot, pulling off his shoe to reveal a Tong tattoo on his heel. John has finally managed to turn around, though he’s almost doubled over in pain and is still trying to catch his breath. As Sherlock scrambles to his feet John grabs Sarah’s hand and starts to pull her towards the exit.**

“Yay!” Molly cheered.

“A clue!” Anderson exclaimed instead.

**JOHN (almost voicelessly): Come on.**

**Sherlock races off ahead of them.**

**SHERLOCK: Come on! Let’s go!**

*****

**NEW SCOTLAND YARD. D.I. Dimmock storms into the office, followed by the boys and a rather bewildered Sarah. Dimmock is clearly not in a good mood.**

**DIMMOCK: I sent a couple of cars. The old hall is totally deserted.**

**SHERLOCK: Look, I saw the mark at the circus – that tattoo that we saw on the two bodies: the mark of the Tong.**

**Dimmock has reached his desk and has turned to face the others.**

**JOHN: Lukis and Van Coon were part of a-a smuggling operation. Now, one of them stole something when they were in China; something valuable.**

**SHERLOCK: These circus performers were gang members sent here to get it back.**

**DIMMOCK: Get what back?**

**Sherlock bites his lip, looking away angrily.**

**JOHN (hesitantly): We don’t know.**

**DIMMOCK: You don’t know.**

“Yeah, well obviously he doesn’t know, or he’d be rubbing it in your face by now! Like he always does with Lestrade. No offence, Detective Inspector,” Anderson yelled, though near the end his voice dissolved int eh awkward tension.

“None taken. We all know it’s true,” the man in question bemoaned dejectedly.

**Sherlock still won’t meet his eyes.**

**DIMMOCK: Mr. Holmes ...**

**DIMMOCK: I’ve done everything you asked. Lestrade, he seems to think your advice is worth something.**

**Sherlock lifts his head and gives a faint but proud smile.**

**DIMMOCK: I gave the order for a raid. Please tell me I’ll have something to show for it – other than a massive bill for overtime.**

“Sherlock doesn’t even get paid to do this… Which makes me wonder, how did you guys afford that apartment? Considering how many private cases Sherlock _didn’t_ _take_ , and how often you did free cases for the police, it couldn’t all be riding on John’s job at the clinic, right?” Molly pondered.

John immediately shook his head, but it was Mycroft who answered. “Many of you may not know this, but in addition to my position in the British government, my brother and I come from a fairly wealthy family. His Trust Fund is significantly smaller than mine, due to his…ahem… unfortunately habit, but it still has a grand amount left to be spent on whatever tickles his fancy on any particular day.”

*****

**221B. Sherlock leads John and Sarah into the living room and immediately stares at the pictures over the fireplace as he takes his coat off.**

**JOHN: They’ll be back in China by tomorrow.**

**SHERLOCK: No, they won’t leave without what they came for. We need to find their hide-out; the rendezvous.**

**He walks closer to the photos, staring at them intensely. John also gazes at the pictures while Sarah hovers nearby, forgotten by the pair of them. Sherlock runs his fingers over the main picture of the painted brick wall.**

**SHERLOCK: Somewhere in this message it must tell us.**

**He and John fall silent. Sarah looks at them for a moment, then realizes that she is surplus to requirements.**

**SARAH: Well, I think perhaps I should leave you to it.**

**JOHN: No, no, you don’t have to go ... (he looks round at Sherlock) ... does she? (He turns back to Sarah.) You can stay.**

**SHERLOCK (simultaneously): Yes, it would be better to study if you left now.**

Donovan snickered. “Wow. He _really_ doesn’t like her…”

**He looks around pointedly at Sarah, while John throws a dark look at him before turning back to her.**

**JOHN: He’s kidding. Please stay if you’d like.**

**Sarah looks nervously towards Sherlock, who has already turned back to the photographs. She smiles awkwardly and tries what she thinks is a friendly approach.**

**SARAH: Is it just me, or is anyone else starving?**

**SHERLOCK (sighing and closing his eyes in exasperation): Ooh, God.**

“It seems like Sarah is the exact opposite of anyone that Sherlock would willingly associate with. Maybe worse than you guys,” Lestrade observed, then cast his eyes to where Anderson and Donovan were sitting. The two in question shrugged. Sherlock did indeed like spending time with them if only to insult them, but it seemed like with Sarah, Sherlock was just so bored with her that he didn’t even bother to try insulting her.

*****

**Shortly afterwards, John opens the fridge to find it almost empty apart from a couple of bottles, a can, and what might well be an eyeball lying on a shelf. He sighs.**

**In the living room, Sherlock has sat down at the dining table which is covered with photos, notes and drawings of various pictograms. As he rummages through them, Sarah stands nearby, looking at all the pictures stuck to the mirror.**

**SARAH: So, this is what you do, you and John. You solve puzzles for a living.**

“She’s trying to be interested…” Molly said. There was an uneasiness in her voice as if she already knew how it would turn out.

**SHERLOCK (tetchily, not looking round): Consulting detective.**

**SARAH: Oh.**

**In the kitchen, John is searching through cupboards. He twists the lid off a jar of pickled onions, sniffs the contents and recoils at the smell.**

**JOHN: Oh!**

**He puts the lid back on and continues his search.**

**Sarah has walked over to Sherlock and is looking over his shoulder. She points to the paper he’s looking at.**

**SARAH: What are these squiggles?**

“That was the wrong thing to do. Despite her interest, Sherlock hates it when people ask stupid questions,” Molly declared.

**Sherlock raises his head, his face set as if he’s trying very hard not to kill her.**

**SHERLOCK (still not looking round at her): They’re numbers. An ancient Chinese dialect.**

**SARAH: Oh, right! Yeah, well, of course, I should have known that!**

**In the kitchen, John has found a small bag of Wotsits and is emptying them into a bowl. Mrs. Hudson comes to the door and speaks quietly.**

“All you had was a bag of cheese puffs? That’s it?” Anderson asked.

**MRS. HUDSON: Ooh-ooh!**

**John looks up and his face fills with grateful delight as she comes in carrying a tray covered with a tea towel.**

**MRS. HUDSON (whispering): I’ve done punch and a bowl of nibbles.**

“I don’t think I’ve said this enough, but, Mrs. Hudson, you have always been a lifesaver for us.”

**She puts the tray on the table and takes off the tea towel to reveal a jug of punch with slices of fruit floating on top, two glasses, a bowl of crisps and another bowl presumably containing some dip.**

**JOHN (softly): Mrs. Hudson, you’re a saint!**

**MRS. HUDSON (whispering): If it was Monday, I’d have been to the supermarket!**

**JOHN (whispering): No; thank you! Thank you!**

**Back in the living room, Sherlock is just about to commit murder as Sarah picks up the photograph of the brick wall which Dimmock had brought back sealed in an evidence bag. He glares at her in utter fury and then turns his head away, his teeth bared.**

Sadness invaded Mycroft’s eyes – if that was even possible. “He was frustrated with the case.”

“Yeah. He only got like that when a piece wouldn’t fit – so to speak,” John said. “It didn’t happen often, but there were times…”

“Ha! See? Even the freak can’t solve them all!”

**SARAH (oblivious to his rage): So these numbers – it’s a cipher.**

**SHERLOCK (tightly): Exactly.**

**SARAH: And each pair of numbers is a word.**

**(Sherlock’s head slowly lifts.**

**SHERLOCK: How did you know that?**

John gave a grin and turned to the others. “I bet Sherlock was hoping that I’d picked a genius for a girlfriend. Then, he could have an assistant who was actually _competent._ ”

“You’re competent, John! Don’t sell yourself short,” Molly assured him.

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter because she only knows that because she saw the words.”

“What?”

“Just watch.”

**For the first time, he turns and meets her eyes.**

**SARAH: Well, two words have already been translated, here.**

**She puts the picture down on the desk and points. Sherlock takes the photo from her and stares at it.**

“He must’ve felt stupid right then,” Donovan jeered. “It’s written all over his face.”

**SHERLOCK: John.**

**JOHN: Mmm?**

**He looks round from the kitchen table.**

**SHERLOCK (standing up): John, look at this.**

**He takes the photo out of the evidence bag as John comes out of the kitchen.**

**SHERLOCK: Soo Lin at the museum – she started to translate the code for us. We didn’t see it!**

“And here is the key turning point for the entire case,” Anderson exclaimed. He was grinning at the screen now, eyes moving quickly. I was almost like he was hoping to see something else and possibly solve it before the master – however, he had no chance, logically.

**Written in fine pen, a word has been written across each of the first two sets of symbols on the photograph. Sherlock reads them out.**

**SHERLOCK: “NINE,” “MILL.”**

**JOHN (squinting at the photo): Does that mean ‘millions’?**

**SHERLOCK (thoughtfully): Nine million quid. For what?**

“The artifact that was stolen, I’d guess,” Anderson said.

“Not to channel my inner Sherlock, but, _obviously_ ,” John growled.

**He turns and goes over to where he had dumped his coat and scarf.**

**SHERLOCK: We need to know the end of this sentence.**

**JOHN: Where are you going?**

**SHERLOCK (putting on his coat): To the museum; to the restoration room.**

**He grimaces in exasperation at himself.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, we must have been staring right at it!**

“Yeah. That _wasn’t_ one of Sherlock’s better moments. I’m sure the other cases that are shown will be more entertaining for you all,” John assured them.

**JOHN: At-at what?**

**SHERLOCK: The book, John. The book – the key to cracking the cipher!**

**He brandishes the photo at John.**

**SHERLOCK: Soo Lin used it to do this! Whilst we were running around the gallery, she started to translate the code. It must be on her desk.**

**And he’s gone, hurrying out the door.**

“Too slow, John!”

“I wasn’t going to follow him that time, anyway,” John said. There was a small smile on his lips. Then, as he realized what was about to happen, the smile fell. If the others noticed, they didn’t say anything; he wasn’t going to tell them anything, anyway.

*****

**Out on Baker Street, a man and woman are walking along the road. Obviously, tourists, they are consulting the London A-Z and looking around. Sherlock bursts out of the door of 221B, running towards the curb to hail a passing black cab.**

**SHERLOCK: Taxi!**

**As he sweeps past the tourists, he brushes past hard enough to break the man’s hold on the book, which falls to the ground. The man yells at him indignantly in German.**

**TOURIST: Hey, du!** **Siehst du nicht wo du hingehst?** **[Hey, you! Why don’t you look where you’re going?]**

“Why is he being so rude to Sherlock?” Molly asked, looking worriedly at the screen for any possible injury on the detective.

“Yeah, he didn’t even know what he as like by then!” Lestrade added jokingly. That comment drew a few chuckles.

**Sherlock turns back and picks up the book, handing it back to the man.**

**SHERLOCK: Entschuldigen Sie, bitte. [Forgive me, please.]**

**TOURIST (snarkily, snatching the book back): Ja, danke! [Yeah, thanks!]**

**He turns away, putting his arm around his wife and still speaking.**

**TOURIST: Und dann sagen die, dass die Engländer höflich sind! [And they say the English are polite!]**

“Hey!” Anderson protested, “That’s just Sherlock! The rest of us are pretty alright!”

**Sherlock turns and raises his arm to the cab again, but it has already driven past. He grunts in exasperation and walks down the road, looking over his shoulder to check traffic coming from behind him. After a few yards, he stops and turns back again, grunting angrily a second time when no cabs magically materialize for him. Looking up and down the road, he sees an Asian couple, possibly father and daughter, standing at the corner over the road and consulting an A-Z as they too try to work out their route. Sherlock’s eyes narrow, and he flashes back in his mind to walking across Lukis’ living room and looking at a pile of books and papers on a table. The London A-Z was the top book on the pile. He flashes back further into the past and remembers seeing a pile of books in Van Coon’s living room. The third book down on the pile was the London A-Z. Then he remembers turning around from the crates in his own living room and staring at his bookcase.**

**SHERLOCK (in flashback): A book that everybody would own.**

**His memories move on to him smiling at Soo Lin after he handed her the teapot in the restoration room. On the table was a London A-Z.**

**In the present, Sherlock’s mouth opens in startled realization and he breaks into a run, chasing back towards the German couple.**

**SHERLOCK (shouting): Please, wait! Bitte! [Please!]**

“I guess his German needs a bit of work, hey John?” Lestrade asked.

John shrugged. “Too late for that now,” he said sadly.

The others all looked down in despair except for Mycroft – and Donovan for obvious reasons.

**The tourists turn back and frown in confusion as he hurries toward them.**

**MALE TOURIST: Was wollt er? Was will er? [What does he want?]**

**Sherlock runs up to them and snatches the A-Z from the man’s hands and turns away, looking down at the book.**

**TOURIST: Hey, du! Was macht du? [Hey, you! What are you doing?]**

**SHERLOCK (turning back to him momentarily): Minute! [ Wait a minute!]**

**TOURIST (angrily): Gib mir doch mein Buch zurück! [Give me back my book!]**

“Oh, Sherlock!” Mrs. Hudson scolded again, softly. She chuckled at her former tenant’s antics.

**Ignoring him, Sherlock turns his back on the couple again and opens the book. Waving his hand in exasperation at the crazy Englander, the man puts his arm around his wife and they walk away.**

*****

**Upstairs in 221B, John and Sarah have relocated to the kitchen. John is sitting at the side table and Sarah is standing nearby.**

**SARAH: Yeah! No, absolutely. I mean, well, a quiet night in’s just-just what the doctor ordered.**

**JOHN (softly): Ha-ha-ha!**

**SARAH: Er, I mean, I’d love to go out of an evening and wrestle a few Chinese gangsters, you know, generally, but a girl can get too much.**

**John has been giggling silently as she speaks and now he nods in agreement.**

**JOHN: No, okay.**

**They smile at each other, then she looks away, laughing in embarrassment.**

**JOHN: Hmm. Um, shall we get a takeaway?**

“Good idea,” Lestrade said.

“Well, I couldn’t have just opened the fridge to reveal a human head, could I? That would’ve _really_ scared her off!” John said.

“I guess that’s true.”

**SARAH: Yeah!**

**John nods and gets up to find a menu.**

*****

**On the street, Sherlock is flicking through the pages of the A-Z.**

**SHERLOCK: Page fifteen, entry one. Page fifteen, entry one ...**

**He has turned to the correct page and looks at the first entry on that index page. It reads “Deadmans Lane NW9.” He lifts his head.**

**SHERLOCK: Dead man. You were threatening to kill them.**

“No wonder it scared them all so much,” Molly whispered.

**He flashes back to the message sprayed across Sir William’s office, across the library shelf and across the statue in the library.**

**SHERLOCK: It’s the first cipher.**

**He takes the photograph of the message sprayed on the brick wall out of his coat pocket and unfolds it. With the first two words already translated, he looks at the third pair of symbols and then starts flicking to the correct page in the book.**

**SHERLOCK: Thirty-seven, nine; thirty-seven, nine ...**

**The appropriate entry on that page reads “Fore St EC2.” Sherlock gets out a pen and writes “FOR” over the relevant symbols on the photo.**

**SHERLOCK: Nine mill ... for ...**

“Finally! He’s figuring it out! I love this now!” Anderson announced enthusiastically.

“I thought you said that you hated it?” Lestrade asked, raising an eyebrow at his previous co-worker.

“Shhh…” Anderson replied.

*****

**In the kitchen, Sarah has sat down on the seat that John vacated and is taking off her jacket. John has picked up the jug of punch and is filling the glasses. Someone knocks on the front door downstairs.**

**JOHN: Ooh, blimey, that was quick. I’ll just pop down.**

“Does anyone get the feeling that this should be foreboding?” Molly asked the others. They just shrugged. “Oh. Okay.”

**He hands her one of the glasses as he walks towards the kitchen door.**

**SARAH: Do you want me to lay the table?**

**John looks around at the kitchen table which is covered with Sherlock’s paperwork and experiments.**

**JOHN: Um, eat off trays?**

**SARAH: Yeah.**

**JOHN: Yeah!**

*****

**On the street, Sherlock is still translating the symbols.**

**SHERLOCK: Sixty, thirty-five.**

**On the relevant page, the appropriate entry reads “Jade Cl. E16.”**

**SHERLOCK: Jade. (He writes on the photograph as he says the word again.) Jade.**

*****

**John opens the front door and smiles at the man standing on the doorstep, who is wearing a jacket with the hood pulled up.**

**JOHN: Sorry to keep you. (Rummaging in his trouser pocket) How much d’you want?**

**CHINESE MAN: Do you have it?**

“Oh no. I see where this is going…” Molly murmured, staring at the screen in mild horror.

**JOHN (looking around blankly): What?**

**CHINESE MAN: Do you have the treasure?**

**JOHN: I don’t understand.**

**The man coshes John around the left side of his head with a pistol. John falls to the floor.**

“John!” Mrs. Hudson cries in alarm.

*****

**On the street, Sherlock turns to the page for the final word. Finding the correct entry, he writes “TRAMWAY” onto the photograph and then reads the whole message aloud.**

**SHERLOCK: “NINE MILL FOR JADE PIN DRAGON DEN BLACK ... (he raises his head and stares ahead of him) ... TRAMWAY.”**

*****

**In the kitchen of the flat, there’s no sign of Sarah. The overhead suspended neon light is swaying gently back and forth. Two trays are on the table, each containing a clean plate, cutlery and a glass of punch. Downstairs, the front door slams and Sherlock’s voice can be heard.**

**SHERLOCK: John! John! I’ve got it!**

“Yay! That means that this one is almost over!” Anderson cried in delight. “I absolutely hate it!” The merry tone never left his voice.

The others stared at him in alarm but decided to leave him be.

**He runs in through the kitchen door, sees nobody there and runs into the living room, brandishing the A-Z.**

**SHERLOCK: The cipher! The book! It’s the London A to Z that they’re using...**

**He trails off before he can finish the last word, staring in shock when he sees that yellow paint has been sprayed across the living room windows. On the left-hand window is the sort-of upside down eight with an almost horizontal line above it. On the right-hand window is the single almost horizontal slash. Together they spell out “DEAD MAN.” There is no sign of John or Sarah. Sherlock stares at the paint in horror.**

“How in the world did the freak not see them get taken? He was right there!” Donovan jumped to her feet as she all but shouted the questions to the heavens.

“My _brother_ ,” Mycroft emphasized, “Tends to escape into a world all his own when he is concentrating. Surely you know that after working with him all these years, sergeant.”

“Are you two not at all worried about John and his then-girlfriend?” Molly asked, staring at the two in shock. “I mean, I know that they’ll be okay, but still… That must’ve been traumatic, especially for her.”

“No wonder she left you, John,” Lestrade muttered, “No offence, of course.”

“Of course,” John replied. He then took a deep breath. “So…lunch?” he asked.

Their captor seemed to agree that it had been a while since they’d last eaten, and so, when the screen went dark, food appeared in front of them once again.

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	17. 1x2 Part 8 - The Blind Banker

The widespread feast included everything from beans and toast to gingernut cookies. Plates were quickly filled, then emptied, then filled again, until nothing but crumbs remained between the group of people in the small, dark, room.

“Despite the good food, we’ve still been kidnapped,” Sally pointed out.

“I don’t care,” Anderson admitted, “This is the best food I’ve had since being married.”

“You’re still married? I’m surprised your poor wife put up with you this long!” Mrs. Hudson said savagely. Anderson sent her an offended look, a miffed puff of breath escaping his mouth.

No one said anything more after that.

**John regains consciousness sitting on a chair somewhere dark. A fire is burning in a dustbin behind him. He slowly raises his head. There is a bleeding cut on his left temple. As he grimaces in pain, the voice of the Opera Singer comes out of the dim tunnel in front of him.**

**OPERA SINGER: “A book is like a magic garden carried in your pocket.”**

“What’s that suppos’d to mean?” Sally asked. No one answered her. She didn’t deserve to be answered.

**Wincing, John turns his head to the left and sees Sarah sitting on another chair with a gag in her mouth. She looks round to him, terrified. Ahead of them is the Chinese woman who he saw photographing him and who was watching him and Sherlock on Hungerford Bridge. Despite the darkness, she is still wearing her dark sunglasses. She walks towards him and we now see that they are in an abandoned tunnel. There are two Chinese men standing behind the approaching woman, and a couple of other fires are burning to illuminate the area. A few feet ahead of where John and Sarah are tied to their chairs by their hands and feet is a large object covered with cloth. The woman raises her sunglasses to the top of her head and looks down at John.**

**OPERA SINGER: Chinese proverb, Mr. Holmes.**

“Um…what’s going on?” Molly asked, staring at the screen apprehensively, “John’s not Sherlock, he’s John.”

Mycroft let out an annoyed breath through his nose. “Thank you for the astute observation, Ms. Hooper. But clearly, John’s kidnapper doesn’t know that.”

**John looks at her, startled.**

**JOHN: I ... I’m not Sherlock Holmes.**

**OPERA SINGER (smiling humourlessly): Forgive me if I do not take your word for it.**

**She reaches down and pulls open his jacket, rummaging in the inside pocket.**

**JOHN: Ow. Ow.**

**She takes out his wallet, opens it and takes something out of it.**

**OPERA SINGER: Debit card, name of S. Holmes.**

**_Flashback to Sherlock sitting in the living room after John’s return without the shopping._ **

**_SHERLOCK (in flashback): Take my card._ **

“Here we go,” John said, looking at the ground. He looked back at everything he’d done since the case began, from the groceries to the circus tickets, and, apart they seemed trivial, but together, each little thing was working against him and his life. Oh, he hated it when that happened.

**JOHN: Yes; that’s not actually mine. He lent that to me.**

**OPERA SINGER (looking in the wallet again): A cheque for five thousand pounds made out in the name of Mr. Sherlock Holmes.**

**_Flashback to John taking the cheque from Sebastian._ **

**JOHN: Yeah, he gave me that to look after.**

**OPERA SINGER (finding something else in the wallet): Tickets from the theatre, collected by you, name of Holmes.**

**JOHN: Yes, okay ...**

**_Flashback to John and Sarah at the Box Office of the theatre._ **

**_MANAGER (in flashback): What’s the name?_ **

**_JOHN (in flashback): Uh, Holmes._ **

Molly couldn’t help it – she let out a snort of laughter. “Oh, you poor man, John!” she cried. She knew he’d be alright, of course, since he was obviously sitting next to them, and, knowing that, it was incredibly funny. The situations he got himself into… “You sure have the worst luck, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” the man in question admitted, voice sounding defeated.

**JOHN (in the present): I realize what this looks like, but I’m not him.**

**OPERA SINGER: We heard it from your own mouth.**

**JOHN: What?**

**OPERA SINGER: “I am Sherlock Holmes and I always work alone ...”**

**_Flashback to John outside Soo Lin’s flat, storming back to the door and shouting through the letterbox._ **

**_JOHN (in flashback): “... because no-one else can compete with my MASSIVE INTELLECT!”_ **

Molly was still laughing. She was trying to cover it by holding a delicate hand in front of her – as previously described by Sherlock – small mouth, though was failing desperately to hold in her giggles. “I’m just surprised that with all their noticing and spying, they didn’t realize _everyone_ else calling Sherlock by his own name, and John by his. All they heard was what they wanted to hear, which, apparently, was that sherlock is a short blond, ex-army soldier with an ex-psychosomatic limp and a crazy, tall friend.”

**John stares ahead of himself in disbelief.**

**JOHN: Did I really say that?**

**He chuckles weakly, then lowers his head in pain.**

**JOHN: I s’ppose there’s no use me trying to persuade you I was doing an impression.**

**Before he can finish the sentence, the woman raises a small pistol and points it at his head. John cringes away from it, blowing out a panicked breath. The woman grins.**

**OPERA SINGER: I am Shan.**

“Aaaand, of course, the villain has to be the _last_ person you expect, because this real life of Sherlock’s is basically a television series!” Anderson exclaimed angrily.

“At least it’s not a show he’d be yelling at, because it’d just fill his already-massive ego,” John mumbled jokingly, earning confused glances from everyone in the room.

**John stares up at her.**

**JOHN: You’re ... you’re Shan.**

**OPERA SINGER/SHAN: Three times we tried to kill you and your companion, Mr. Holmes. What does it tell you when an assassin cannot shoot straight?**

**She lifts her other hand and cocks the pistol. John cringes back, turning his head away and whispering, “Don’t, don’t,” as he struggles against his bonds. Shan looks down at him and her expression becomes ominous. John breathes out heavily as her finger tightens on the trigger. John stares into the barrel of the gun, his face full of terror as she pulls the trigger all the way. The gun clicks. John grunts in shock, and Shan smiles smugly.**

**SHAN: It tells you that they’re not really trying.**

“Well, that’s…good?” Lestrade said though the lilt in his voice made it more of a question.

**John breathes heavily, trying to get control of himself.**

*****

**221B. Sherlock hurries over to the bookcase.**

**SHERLOCK: Tramway.**

“Yes! He’s getting close!” Anderson said. Though he was still having doubts about the dead man, he was finding a new understanding for his life and the different quirks, which, when not directed at him., were actually quite hilarious. Previously, the word “ _hilarious”_ would never have been used by Anderson to describe the man known as Sherlock Holmes, but here he was, doing just that.

**As if he has lost control of his usual razor-sharp brain in his fear for his friend, he stares at the books on the shelf for a few moments while he tries to find what he wants.**

**SHERLOCK (faintly, under his breath): Oh, Christ.**

**Finally, he finds and pulls out a folding map of London. Turning back to the dining table, he unfolds the map and spreads it out, running his finger over it until he stabs it down.**

**SHERLOCK: There.**

“Good thing he’s memorized the whole of London, eh?” Lestrade asked, bumping John’s arm with his own.

“Yeah,” the man replied distantly, “Good thing.”

**He turns and heads out of the door.**

“Yay! Go, Sherlock!” Molly cheered.

“Ugh. Hopeless romantic. He’ll never love you back, y’know. Might as well give up and just move on,” Sally muttered, just quiet enough for no one to hear her. Good thing, too, because she didn’t want anyone asking questions. It would be too awkward and too embarrassing to explain. She didn’t _ever_ want to relive that day…

Little did she know, Mycroft was looking at her out of the corner of his eye. It was only for a moment, though, before he turned his attention back to the scene playing out before them.

*****

**TRAMWAY TUNNEL. Shan slides a clip into the pistol and then cocks it before pointing it at John’s head a second time. John cringes away from it.**

**SHAN: Not blank bullets now.**

“There were never any blank bullets, though. It was just an empty gun,” Molly pointed out, slightly confused. Her eyebrows were furrowed as she stared at the lady on the screen as if trying to read her mind to see what in the world she was thinking.

**JOHN (breathily): Okay.**

**SHAN: If we wanted to kill you, Mr. Holmes, we would have done it by now. We just wanted to make you inquisitive.**

**She looks at him sternly.**

**SHAN: Do you have it?**

**JOHN: Do I have what?**

**SHAN: The treasure.**

“What treasure?” Anderson asked, clueless. He stared at the screen blankly, though his eyes were unfocused as he racked his brain for any possible treasures that had been mentioned.

“The jade pin, you idiot!” Sally said with a snarl. Her eyes were narrowed at him as if she couldn’t believe that she’d ever thought he was a good idea. What a moron.

**JOHN: I don’t know what you’re talking about.**

**SHAN (turning away): I would prefer to make certain.**

**She looks at her men, one of whom now pulls the cover off the large object to reveal the crossbow which was used at the circus. An arrow is already loaded in it. John stares at it and sighs deeply. Shan turns back to him.**

**SHAN: Everything in the West has its price; and the price for her life ...**

“Um… I’m pretty sure Sarah isn’t as good at this trick as the professional,” Anderson said awkwardly, earning himself a sharp look from John.

“Better hope the freak gets there quickly,” Sally said, not bothering to be quiet this time, as the others were far too fixated on the scene in front of them to even send her vengeful looks of hate anymore. Ta this point, she wasn’t worth it. They had to be professional, keep their cool, and not sink to her level.

Then again, John was thinking, it would’ve definitely put a smile on Sherlock’s face to see him punch Sally right in the teeth.

**John turns and stares at Sarah.**

**SHAN: ... information.**

**The two men walk over and pick up Sarah’s chair. She cries out repeatedly through her gag as they carry her towards the crossbow.**

**JOHN (anguished, under his breath): Sorry. I’m sorry.**

“That’s all you can say at this point, John,” Lestrade said, sympathizing with the man. “You don’t have what they want, and without being able to do anything yourself, all you can do is wait for Sherlock or someone else to show up and save the day.”

“Boy, that must be hard on yerr pride,” Sally ground out between secret snorts of laughter.

**The men set down the chair on the other side of the crossbow, leaving Sarah facing the arrow tip and directly in line with it. She stares at it, crying and tugging in vain at the ropes tying her to the chair. Shan glares down at John.**

**SHAN: Where’s the hairpin?**

“Aww! I bet it was Van Coon who stole the pin, and he gave it to his secretary! It seemed that he really liked her!” Molly said.

“Of course not, Hooper! Who would do that? That’s entirely too cliché!” Sally retorted.

Molly physically deflated, sinking back into her seat. Her cheeks had lit up rouge from her embarrassment, though she was fairly sure of reading about the pin in John’s blog. She wasn’t one to argue with Sally, though. It was beneath her dignity to argue like a petulant child.

John, on the other hand, merely hid a snort but didn’t comment.

**JOHN (tugging at his own bonds in spite of the pistol aimed at him): What?**

**SHAN: The Empress pin valued at nine million sterling. We already had a buyer in the West; and then one of our people was greedy. He took it, brought it back to London and you, Mr. Holmes, have been searching.**

**JOHN: Please. Please, listen to me. I’m not ... I’m not Sherlock Holmes. You have to believe me. I haven’t found whatever it is you’re looking for.**

**SHAN (loudly): I need a volunteer from the audience!**

“And of course, the psychopath in her must make a show about it,” Molly mumbled, annoyed. “Why must all the people after Sherlock need to be psychopaths?”

“Because he’s got a natural aura that just attracts psychopaths?” Anderson suggested hesitantly. No one paid him any mind, so he was both distressed and relieved. Distressed that no one was listening to him, but relieved that they weren’t angry about his comment.

**JOHN (desperately): No, please. Please.**

**SHAN (walking towards Sarah): Ah, thank you, lady. Yes, you’ll do very nicely.**

**Sarah wails through her gag, tugging desperately at her ropes. Shan smiles, takes out a knife and reaches up to a nearby sandbag suspended over a pulley hanging from the ceiling. She stabs the knife into the bag and sand begins to pour out. Sarah continues to wail as John sighs out an appalled breath and stares up at the bag in horror.**

“That poor girl,” Mrs. Hudson said sympathetically, “But no wonder she never came back.”

John’s face flushed. “Mrs. Hudson!”

*****

**Sherlock is in the back of a taxi, looking around anxiously as the cab progresses through the streets.**

*****

**Shan smiles and looks around at her audience.**

**SHAN: Ladies and gentlemen. From the distant moonlit shores of NW1, we present for your pleasure Sherlock Holmes’ pretty companion in a death-defying act.**

**JOHN: Please!**

**Shan has walked over to Sarah and now places a black origami lotus flower on her lap.**

**SHAN: You’ve seen the act before. How dull for you. You know how it ends.**

**JOHN (frantically): I’m not Sherlock Holmes!**

**SHAN: I don’t believe you.**

Almost everyone was leaning forward in their seats in anticipation.

John, who was caught up in the moment, felt like he’d been transported back to that night, and his heart raced in concern for Sarah. Looking back now, she had every right to leave after that; that kind of excitement was far too much for most people, and she must’ve been frightened for her life. And there hadn’t been a shortage of girls around to date, so he hadn’t thought much of it afterward.

The Yarders were concerned as well. Somewhat annoyed, though, by the overtly dramatic music that was playing in the background for some reason – because of course, it was made into some sort of television show!

**SHERLOCK (offscreen): You should, you know.**

“Yay! And here’s Sherlock to save the day!” Molly cried enthusiastically.

**Shan spins around as a familiar silhouette appears at the far end of the tunnel.**

**SHERLOCK: Sherlock Holmes is nothing at all like him.**

**Shan raises her pistol, cocks it and aims it towards him. He immediately dodges to the side of the tunnel, disappearing into the shadows. One of Shan’s thugs starts to hurry towards the end of the tunnel.**

**SHERLOCK’s VOICE (from the darkness, as John sighs out a half-relieved, half-exasperated breath): How would you describe me, John? Resourceful? Dynamic? Enigmatic?**

“Did he always click his ‘k’s?” Anderson asked, turning to the others – those who knew Sherlock better than he did.

“Yes,” was the collective answer.

“And he clicks his ‘t’s and pops the ‘p’s,” Molly said.

“You mean he _did_ ,” Sally reminded her.

The pathologist’s face fell. “Oh,” she said, “Right. Sorry.”

“Don’t look at me; I don’t care about the freak.”

Finally, Molly seemed to have had enough. “Yeah? Well… I do! So, you can just…! You can just bugger off!” she shouted in the sergeant’s face. “And stop calling him a _freak_ just because he was _smarter_ than you!” At this point, the television had paused, allowing her to say what she wanted to say. This also meant that everyone was focused on her.

Sally stood, towering over the smaller woman. “Did you just threaten me?” she asked.

Molly faltered a little, but remained strong, standing as well. She was still shorter, but her eyes were steady as she levelled them with Sally. “No, I didn’t.” And she hadn’t. Not really.

Suddenly, a new voice entered the mix: “But I will.”

It was Mycroft. He didn’t stand, but with his posture and the coolness about his figure, he was above everyone in the room. “I have sat idly by as you have insulted my brother these past years. I have let him fight his own battles, but now that he is no longer around to defend himself, I guess I shall step up.” He stood then. “Remember this well: I, as a member of the British government, have the power to take your job from you in an instant. So, if I were you, I’d watch my mouth.” With the last few words, he paused, emphasizing them in a slow, harsh tone.

Sally backed down, her face pale and her eyes wide. She said nothing as she returned to her seat.

Mycroft sent Molly a soft, small smile – which she returned – and sat down once again. The screen resumed.

**JOHN (tetchily): Late?**

**SHERLOCK’s VOICE (from the darkness): That’s a semi-automatic. If you fire it, the bullet will travel at over a thousand metres per second.**

“So, how’s he gonna keep her from just shooting at him?” Anderson asked, “There aren’t many places to hide in that tunnel.”

**SHAN (still aiming her pistol towards the shadows): Well?**

**SHERLOCK’s VOICE (from the darkness): Well ...**

**The thug has reached a large storage container standing at the side of the tunnel. Sherlock runs out from behind it and thwacks the man across the stomach with a metal pipe. The man grunts and collapses to the ground. Sherlock immediately ducks back into the shadows.**

**SHERLOCK’s VOICE (quick fire, from the darkness): ... the radius curvature of these walls is nearly four metres. If you miss, the bullet will ricochet. Could hit anyone. Might even bounce off the tunnel and hit you.**

“I’d say that’s pretty good incentive not to shoot someone,” Lestrade commented. Anderson pouted, though as a grown man, he would never admit it.

**He bursts out of the darkness and runs to the nearby burning dustbin, kicking it over. John flinches at the loud crash and Shan’s eyes widen when she realizes that it’s now even more impossible to see that area of the tunnel. John peers into the darkness, trying to see how close his friend is. Sherlock reappears just behind Sarah and squats down behind her, starting to untie her bonds. However, the other man – who turns out to be Liang, Soo Lin’s brother – runs over to him and loops a long red scarf around his throat a couple of times.**

“Oh, not again!” Molly exclaimed, worry filling her voice.

“Calm down, Molly,” John said, though his heart was racing as well, “You know that he’ll be fine after this case.”

“I know,” she admitted, “But that doesn’t mean I’m any less worried for his well being.”

**Sherlock cries out and stands up, tugging at the part of the scarf around his neck as Liang pulls it tight. While they struggle, Sarah looks at them for a moment and then turns back to stare at the arrowhead pointed directly at her. She lifts her gaze to the sandbag, which is just passing the counterbalanced weight on its way down towards the metal cup on the crossbow.**

**Behind her, Sherlock has shaken off Liang for a moment and again crouches to Sarah’s bonds. Liang hurries forward and swings another loop of the scarf around Sherlock’s neck and again starts pulling him away.**

**As the men continue to struggle, John realizes that Sherlock isn’t going to get free in time. He struggles to stand, which is almost impossible with his hands tied in front of him and attached tightly to the underside of the chair, and his ankles tied to the legs of the chair. Nevertheless, he manages to stumble forward a couple of paces, half-carrying and half-dragging the chair with him, before he loses his balance and falls onto his side.**

“Almost there, John,” Mrs. Hudson said encouragingly to the man on the screen, as if he could hear her.

**Liang swings yet another loop of the scarf around Sherlock’s neck. Sarah gazes up at the descending metal ball while the men behind her continue to struggle and John thrashes on the floor. Her eyes drop to the arrowhead again as the ball continues relentlessly downwards. Her eyes full of tears, her gaze locks onto her imminent death and all hope begins to fade from her expression.**

**Flailing and groaning with the effort, John manages to squirm around on the floor and finally gets one foot free enough to kick it upwards and connect with a part of the crossbow. The crossbow shifts position, twisting slightly to the left just as the ball connects with the cup. The arrow is released and flies across the tunnel ... and buries itself in Liang’s stomach. He grunts, then straightens up, his face full of shock. He groans breathily for a moment, then slowly topples to the floor.**

**Gasping for breath, Sherlock stands up and looks around. Distant running footsteps can be heard – General Shan is leaving the building. He looks in the direction of the sound as if considering following, but Sarah’s anguished muffled sobs distract him and he unloops the red scarf from around his neck and then drops to his knees beside her.**

**SHERLOCK (soothingly): It’s all right.**

**On the floor, John groans as he struggles to get up onto his elbows. Sherlock unties Sarah’s gag and takes it from her mouth.**

**SHERLOCK (softly): You’re gonna be all right. It’s over now. It’s over.**

Sally opened her mouth to make a comment but wisely refrained from doing so. Out of the corner of his mouth, Mycroft smiled.

**Stroking his hands comfortingly down her arms, he then bends down to untie the ropes. She begins to sob as John looks up at her from the floor. He smiles wearily.**

**JOHN: Don’t worry. Next date won’t be like this.**

“John! That was a terrible joke!” Molly scolded as Mrs. Hudson said: “That’s not something you joke about to a lady!”

**She continues to sob as Sherlock straightens up and stands behind her, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. He looks down the tunnel wistfully.**

“What…?” Anderson said, staring at the screen.

“What is it?” Sally asked him.

“Sherlock didn’t go after Shan. He just stayed with John and his girlfriend…Sarah? Yeah. He just stayed with Sarah and…comforted her.”

“Well that’s not a very _Sherlock_ thing to do,” Sally replied.

“Well, I think it was quite sweet of him,” Molly interjected, putting an end to their conversation.

*****

**Later, the police have arrived to clear up the mess. Dimmock is waiting beside a police car just outside the tunnel as John puts his arm around Sarah’s shoulders and walks her away. Sherlock is just behind them and stops to talk to the inspector.**

“She’s going to be fine, John. A little traumatized, but fine,” Anderson joked. John glared at him, though his heart wasn’t in it because he knew it was true. It was a terrible joke, however.

**SHERLOCK: We’ll just slip off. No need to mention us in your report.**

**DIMMOCK: Mr. Holmes ...**

**SHERLOCK: I have high hopes for you, Inspector. A glittering career.**

**DIMMOCK: I go where you point me.**

**SHERLOCK (walking away): Exactly.**

Laughter filled the room. It was good because the scenes had been too dark and gloomy until that point.

**Dimmock turns and watches him leave. He smiles ruefully.**

“Whatever happened to him? I haven’t ever seen you work with him again,” Lestrade commented.

“That’s because we normally work with you if we’re with the police. Otherwise, of course, you wouldn’t see us work with Dimmock, seeing as it’s either him or you,” John said, getting a little bit sarcastic towards the end of his response.

“Right,” Lestrade said sharply. He seemed a little awkward and embarrassed, though it didn’t show on his face as much as in his tone of voice.

*****

**MORNING. 221B. In the kitchen, John is sitting at the table while Sherlock stands next to him and pours him a mug of tea from a teapot.**

**JOHN: Ta.**

**He is looking at the translated message on the photograph.**

**JOHN: So, “Nine mill ...”**

**SHERLOCK (pouring himself a mug of tea): Million.**

**JOHN: Million, yes; “Nine million for jade pin. Dragon den, black Tramway.”**

**SHERLOCK: An instruction to all their London operatives.**

“That’s how they all knew to look for it,” John explained, “How much it was worth and what was stolen, specifically.”

“You only know that now, though, after stumbling through the case being confused,” Anderson told him smugly.

“Like you’re any better, Anderson!” Lestrade retorted.

The man in question went silent.

**JOHN: Mmm.**

**SHERLOCK: A message; what they were trying to reclaim.**

**JOHN: What, a jade pin?**

**SHERLOCK: Worth nine million pounds. Bring it to the Tramway, their London hideout.**

**JOHN: Hang on: a hairpin worth nine million pounds?**

**SHERLOCK: Apparently.**

**JOHN: Why so much?**

“I think that’s what we’re all wondering, John,” Lestrade muttered.

**SHERLOCK: Depends who owned it.**

*****

**SHAD SANDERSON BANK. The boys are walking towards the entrance to the bank.**

**SHERLOCK: Two operatives based in London. They travel over to Dalian to smuggle those vases. One of them helps himself to something: a little hairpin.**

**JOHN: Worth nine million pounds.**

**SHERLOCK: Eddie Van Coon was the thief. He stole the treasure when he was in China.**

Molly grinned smugly. She had been right in assuming that it was Van Coon who stole the pin. That left them to discover if the secretary had it.

**JOHN: How d’you know it was Van Coon, not Lukis? Even the killer didn’t know that.**

**SHERLOCK (going through the revolving doors): Because of the soap.**

“What?” Anderson said.

**He looks around smugly at John, who stops and stares back at him blankly for a moment before following him into the bank.**

*****

**Upstairs, Van Coon’s P.A. Amanda is sitting at her desk. She squirts a bit of hand lotion from the pump-action bottle on the desk and rubs it into her hands. Her phone rings and she picks it up and answers it.**

**AMANDA: Amanda.**

**SHERLOCK’s VOICE (over the phone): He bought you a present.**

“Yes!” Molly cheered. “I was right!” She turned to look at Sally with a smug smile – one that was juxtaposed against her usually sweet, mild-tempered nature. The sergeant just sunk deep in her seat, mumbling curses under her breath as John let out a burst of laughter.

**AMANDA: Oh. Hello.**

**SHERLOCK’s VOICE (over the phone): A little gift when he came back from China.**

**AMANDA: How do you know that?**

**SHERLOCK (from behind her): You weren’t just his P.A., were you?**

**She turns in surprise as he walks around to the side of the desk, switching off his phone and putting it back into his pocket.**

“Why did he call her if he was right there?” Anderson stared at the screen in utter confusion.

“Dramatic effect?” Sally suggested.

“Obviously. My brother always has been one for the dramatic side of life.”

**AMANDA (switching off her own phone and putting it down): Someone’s been gossiping.**

**SHERLOCK: No.**

**AMANDA: Then I don’t understand. Why ...?**

**SHERLOCK (interrupting): Scented hand soap in his apartment.**

**A brief flashback to Sherlock looking into Van Coon’s bathroom and seeing a pump-action bottle of luxury hand wash on the shelf.**

**SHERLOCK: Three hundred millilitres of it. Bottle almost finished.**

**AMANDA (frowning in confusion): Sorry?**

**SHERLOCK: I don’t think Eddie Van Coon was the type of chap to buy himself hand soap – not unless he had a lady coming over. And it’s the same brand as that hand cream there on your desk.**

“Well, that makes a lot of sense, now doesn’t it?” Lestrade said, impressed as ever. He still couldn’t get over how Sherlock did was he did, despite seeing how his mind worked all throughout the past two cases.

**Amanda momentarily looks down awkwardly.**

**AMANDA: Look, it wasn’t serious between us. It was over in a flash. It couldn’t last – he was my boss.**

**SHERLOCK: What happened? Why did you end it?**

**AMANDA (sadly): I thought he didn’t appreciate me. Took me for granted. Stood me up once too often – we’d plan to go away for the weekend and then he’d just leave; fly off to China at a moment’s notice.**

**SHERLOCK: And he brought you a present from abroad to say sorry.**

**His gaze is focussed on a small green jade hairpin in her hair.**

**SHERLOCK: Can I ... just have a look at it?**

**He holds out his hand.**

*****

**In Sebastian’s office, Seb is signing a cheque for £20,000. He looks up at John who is standing at the other side of the desk.**

“He gave them £25,000? No wonder Sherlock never takes any money for the Yard, if he has clients like that!” Anderson exclaimed loudly.

“No, Sherlock wouldn’t take money from the Yard because he didn’t want to be tied to them. That’s a commitment, and he still wanted the freedom to refuse cases he found too boring,” John replied dryly.

“I don’t think Sherlock even saw the use for that money, anyway, considering the size of his trust fund,” Mycroft murmured. If any of the others heard him, they didn’t comment.

**SEBASTIAN: He really climbed up onto the balcony?**

“And now John is explaining to Sebastian what actually happened, which I guess, is the real test of being the crime-solver assistant of Sherlock Holmes,” Molly said with amusement in her voice.

**He puts the cheque into an envelope.**

**JOHN: Nail a plank across the window and all your problems are over.**

**Looking peeved, Sebastian holds out the envelope to John.**

**JOHN: Thanks.**

“You’d better give that directly to Sherlock, John!” Mrs. Hudson said in a warning tone, though there was underlining humour to her voice.

“Yes, Mrs. Hudson,” John replied with a sigh, “I’ve learned my lesson by now.”

*****

**Outside, Amanda is holding her hair in place with one hand while she takes out the pin with the other.**

**AMANDA: Said he bought it in a street market.**

**She puts the pin into Sherlock’s outstretched hand.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, I don’t think that’s true. I think he pinched it.**

**AMANDA (chuckling ruefully): Yeah, that’s Eddie.**

**SHERLOCK: Didn’t know its value; just thought it would suit you.**

**AMANDA: Oh? What’s it worth?**

**Sherlock smirks.**

**SHERLOCK (slowly): Nine ... million ... pounds.**

Mrs. Hudson let out a breath of laughter. “What a way to drop the news on the poor girl!”

**Amanda’s face fills with shock.**

**AMANDA: Oh my God!**

**She stumbles to her feet and staggers backwards as Sherlock grins.**

**AMANDA: Oh my G...**

**She turns and runs away.**

**AMANDA (high-pitched and hysterical): Nine million!**

“I’m guessing she quit her job and lived out the rest of her days in lavish luxury?” Sally asked sarcastically.

“I dunno. I never found out what happened to her,” John replied, equally as sarcastic.

**In Sebastian’s office, John turns his head at the sound of her voice, then turns back and nods to Sebastian before leaving the room.**

*****

**NEXT MORNING (or possibly the day after that). Sherlock, wearing a dressing gown over his shirt and trousers, is sitting at the dining table while John sits opposite him. Sherlock is looking at the front page of the Sunday Express, where the headline reads, “Who wants to be a million-hair?” He folds the paper in half, puts it down and picks up another newspaper.**

**JOHN: Over a thousand years old and it’s sitting on her bedside table every night.**

“Oh,” Sally said.

“Yeah,” John agreed, smirking at her.

**SHERLOCK: He didn’t know its value; didn’t know why they were chasing him.**

**JOHN: Hmm. Should’ve just got her a lucky cat.**

There was more laughter in the room, but it quickly died down.

**Sherlock smiles at him briefly, then looks away.**

**SHERLOCK: Hmm.**

**His gaze becomes distant. John looks at him closely.**

**JOHN: You mind, don’t you?**

**SHERLOCK (looking at him): What?**

**JOHN: That she escaped – General Shan. It’s not enough that we got her two henchmen.**

**SHERLOCK: It must be a vast network, John; thousands of operatives. You and I, we barely scratched the surface.**

**JOHN: You cracked the code, though, Sherlock; and maybe Dimmock can track down all of them now that he knows it.**

**SHERLOCK: No. No. I cracked this code; all the smugglers have to do is pick up another book.**

**He opens his newspaper and lifts it, beginning to read. John’s eyes drift over to the window, and he frowns and looks closely as a young man in a hooded jacket and wearing a cap walks over to a tall black box on the other side of the road which dispenses parking permits. Putting a bag on the ground, the young man looks around in all directions to make sure he’s not being watched, then lifts a spray can in his right hand and sprays his tag on the back of the box. John watches while the ‘artist’ finishes the tag, picks up his bag and hurries away. As Sherlock, oblivious to this, continues to read his paper, John looks thoughtful, and a police car sped its way down the road, sirens ringing shrilly.**

“That’s not ominous at all…” Sally sneered, “Besides, when is the _freak_ ever oblivious to anything, except maybe other people’s emotions. He _was_ almost a robot after all.” She seemed to have learned a thing or two from the people around her, because this comment was said in a quiet tone, practically unnoticed by those around her. All but Mycroft, who barely spared her a glance, though his eyes carried a cold, hard look.

*****

“Now what’s happenin’?” Lestrade demanded, leaning forward to see what the scene had changed to. He was indeed curious, as were the others.

Even John paid closer attention to the screen; he couldn’t recall this ever happening. Then again, there were bound to be things that happened that they would be shown that he didn’t know. Obviously, because he wasn’t there for everything – just most things.

**In a room somewhere, Shan is sitting at a desk and talking to someone over a computer. Her live image is being transmitted to the other person but the space on the screen which should be showing the face of whoever she’s talking to is marked “No image available.” There is also a text box on the screen which shows that the person to whom she’s talking is indicated simply as “M”. Shan sounds very humble as she speaks.**

“Who’s this, d’you thi-?”

Anderson was cut off as Molly jumped out of her seat, screaming, “Moriarty was behind this whole group? He was targeting Sherlock even back then?”

“This _was_ only shortly before what John so fondly called, _The Great Game_ began,” Mycroft commented offhandedly, drawing the attention of the others.

“So, we’re about to witness Sherlock and Moriarty’s first meeting?” Molly turned to the man she’d once hoped to be her brother in law – if Sherlock had ever noticed her, that is.

**SHAN: Without you – without your assistance – we would not have found passage into London. You have my thanks.**

**The other person’s response appears typed on the screen:**

*****

**M: GRATITUDE IS MEANINGLESS**

**M: IT IS ONLY THE EXPECTATION OF FURTHER FAVOURS**

“That sure _sounds_ like the psychopath,” John muttered, breathing low and filled with echoing aggression. He would never forget the role that man had played in his best friend’s death. If he was still alive today and he ever saw him again, John didn’t know if he would be able to control himself. He’d kill that man over and over again if he could.

*****

**The computer beeps to indicate that the message has finished.**

**SHAN: We did not anticipate ... we did not know this man would come – this Sherlock Holmes.**

**Her face fills with concern.**

**SHAN: And now your safety is compromised.**

“Oh, no, she’s in real trouble, now,” Anderson mumbled.

“Good!” Mrs. Hudson said definitively, “She wasn’t very pleasant, was she?”

“Mrs. Hudson!” John cried in alarm, staring at his landlady in alarm. She sure could be gruesome when she wanted to be. He knew that she was the widow of a powerful drug lord, but still.

**The computer beeps and new text appears:**

*****

**M: THEY CANNOT TRACE THIS BACK TO ME**

Eyes widened as a few of the viewers realized the situation that the general had gotten herself into. She was sure not to leave that room, especially since she was dealing with Moriarty. That was the only thing they knew for sure. The rest was a game of chance with that man. As he once said, he was _so_ changeable, John thought with contempt.

*****

**The computer beeps.**

**SHAN (sincerely): I will not reveal your identity.**

**The computer beeps.**

*****

**M: I AM CERTAIN.**

“Oh, this doesn’t look good,” Molly said, eyes fixated on the screen with horror written across her face. She was worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, chewing nervously.

*****

**The computer beeps. Unseen by Shan, the red light of a rifle’s laser sight appears in the centre of her forehead. Our view of the scene fades to black, and then a single gunshot rings out as we hear the sound of the bullet smashing through the window opposite en route to its target.**

The viewers jumped back in alarm, though none of them seemed surprised by the fate of the general. The screen blackened again. Before anyone could speak, new words appeared. _“That’s the end of the second case!”_

“Finally! I absolutely _hated_ this case!” Anderson cried.

“Yeah! We heard you the first time, Anderson!” Sally sneered, “At least now we know what happened to her.”

“Well, that’s insensitive, now isn’t it?” he snapped back.

“Let’s just focus on watching the next case, shouldn’t we? We know that it’s about Moriarty, so let’s just get on with it,” John interrupted. His narrowed eyes settled on the arguing ex-lovers, bringing them to silence.

“Wait. How do we know it’s about Moriarty?” the clueless man questioned, staring at the short blond in confusion.

“Who do _you_ think that mysterious “M” was?” Molly asked.

“I dunno,” Anderson admitted. “I guess that makes sense.”

 _“Perfect!”_ read the new words on the screen, _“Now we can on with “The Great Game”! I’m so excited for this!”_ And so, the screen lit up and continued to play, changing scenes to show them the next case.

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	18. 1x3 Part 1 - The Great Game

“I wonder what they’ll show us of this case?” Molly said as she leaned forward, eyes fixated on the screen. It was still blank, so obviously whomever their captor was, he or she wanted them to discuss the possibilities of the new case.

“That’s always the question, isn’t it, Ms. Hooper?” Mycroft responded, looking at her. “We already know most of what happens during each case. Of course, some of us lived it, and the others have read about it, but there are still some components that none of us in this room have seen or even thought of as a part of the case.”

“Yeah, like that boy from the museum in the last case. What was his name? Andrew? Andy?”

“Wow, Lestrade, how did you remember that guy? I completely forgot he existed until you said something,” Sally drawled. Her comments seemed far tamer than earlier – though only those towards Sherlock. Obviously, it was the influence Mycroft held over her job and his very real threat of dismissing her from the position she’d worked so hard to get to.

**MINSK, BELARUS. In a prison visitors’ room, Sherlock – wearing the coat with a fur collar attached – is sitting at one of the many tables in the room. Sitting at the other side of the table is Barry ‘Bezza’ Berwick, a young Englishman who is wearing an orange jumpsuit and who is obviously a prison inmate. With the exception of a uniformed guard who stands some distance away, they are the only people in the room. It’s very cold in the room, as signified by their steaming breath when they speak. Sherlock sounds bored.**

“Who’s this?” Lestrade asked John, “A client?”

John squinted at the man in the dim lighting of the room. “Not any that I remember. Maybe he’s a reject client, he said.

Lestrade barked out a laugh. “Well, we know that Sherlock sure has a lot of those.”

**SHERLOCK: Just tell me what happened, from the beginning.**

**BERWICK: We’d been to a bar – a nice place – and, er, I got chattin’ with one of the waitresses, and Karen weren’t ’appy with that, so ... when we get back to the ’otel, we end up havin’ a bit of a ding-dong, don’t we?**

“His grammar is atrocious!” Molly cried, “What is he even saying?”

“He was flirting with a waitress, so when he and his girlfriend got back to their hotel, they got into an argument,” Lestrade translated for her, despite the fact that they were both British, as was the inmate talking to Sherlock on the screen.

**Sherlock sighs out a deliberate and noisy breath.**

**BERWICK: She was always gettin’ at me, sayin’ I weren’t a real man.**

**SHERLOCK: Wasn’t a real man.**

“Thank you, Sherlock!” Molly cried, relieved that at least someone else was peeved by the grammar. He was even correcting the poor inmate, though, knowing Sherlock, it wasn’t a surprise.

**BERWICK: What?**

**SHERLOCK: It’s not “weren’t”; it’s “wasn’t.”**

**BERWICK: Oh.**

**SHERLOCK: Go on.**

**BERWICK: Well, then I dunno how it happened, but suddenly there’s a knife in my hands. And, you know, me old man was a butcher, so I know how to handle knives.**

**Sherlock’s gaze lowers to look at Barry’s hands which are resting on the table.**

**BERWICK: He learned us how to cut up a beast.**

There was a slight sound of frustration from the small woman, but other than that, nothing was said.

**SHERLOCK: “Taught.”**

**BERWICK (starting to get angry): What?**

**SHERLOCK: Taught you how to cut up a beast.**

**BERWICK: Yeah, well, then-then I done it.**

“Why is he even talking to Sherlock if he admits to doing it? To murdering his girlfriend over a petty argument? What’s Sherlock supposed to do for him if he’s already a guilty man and he knows it?” Anderson asked.

“I dunno,” was John’s reply, “That’s probably why he didn’t take the case. What really surprises me is that he asked the inmate to repeat himself.”

“Last time Sherlock asked me to repeat something was…” Lestrade paused, trying to recall a moment in the many years he’d known the younger detective, “…Never. Honestly, never. Sherlock has _never_ asked me or anyone else to repeat themselves to him as far as I’ve seen. He hears it once and sometimes doesn’t even hear the whole story the first time before deciding he doesn’t want it.”

**SHERLOCK: “Did it.”**

**BERWICK (losing his temper): Did it! Stabbed ’er ... (he repeatedly slams his hand down on the table) ... over and over and over, and I looked down and she weren’t ...**

**Sighing out a loud breath through his nose, Sherlock turns his head away. Getting control of his temper, Barry immediately corrects himself.**

**BERWICK: ... wasn’t movin’ no more.**

**Sherlock, who had just turned his head back towards Barry, now turns it away again with an annoyed look.**

**BERWICK: ... any more.**

“At least he’s learning,” Lestrade assured the pathologist with an amused sigh.

“Yeah,” she replied with a groan, head resting against the back of her seat. Her eyes were hard with remnants of her frustration, but were filled with resignation instead, accepting the man’s insistence of speaking poorly.

**He lets out a shaky breath and lowers his head.**

**BERWICK (softly): You’ve gotta help me. I dunno how it happened, but it was an accident. I swear.**

**Sherlock gets to his feet and starts to walk away. Barry calls after him frantically.**

**BERWICK: You’ve gotta help me, Mr. Holmes!**

**Sherlock stops.**

**BERWICK: Everyone says you’re the best. Without you, I’ll get hung for this.**

“Oh, so close!”

“He finally uses the correct past tense and it’s still wrong with the context… Poor fellow,” Lestrade commented, chuckling despite the situation.

**Sherlock looks over his shoulder at the young man.**

**SHERLOCK: No, no, no, Mr. Berwick, not at all.**

**He looks away thoughtfully for a second.**

**SHERLOCK: Hanged, yes.**

“Did Holmes just make a pun?” Sally asked incredulously, eyes wide as she stared at the figure on the screen, unbelieving of what she was seeing.

“I…I think so…?” Anderson answered, also shocked, though his eyes were narrowed, eyebrows furrowed together in puzzlement.

**He quirks a smile at the man, then turns and walks away.**

*****

**221B BAKER STREET. Two gunshots ring out.**

“Ah! What?” Anderson cried out in alarm. He’d nearly jumped out of his seat, instinctively covering his head as if he expected to be shot at.

“For God’s sake, Anderson! Pull yourself together! It’s just on the telly!” Sally snapped at him.

“Sorry…” he mumbled meekly.

**The camera pans across the living room and shows Sherlock lying slumped in his armchair, his head on the low back of the chair. His eyes close, then a few moments later he opens them and gazes up towards the ceiling. Downstairs, the front door can be heard opening. Sherlock turns his head to look towards the sofa, and we now see that he is sprawled low in the chair with his legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. He is wearing sleepwear and a blue silk dressing gown, and his feet are bare. Above the sofa, a smiley face has been spray-painted on the wallpaper using a can of the yellow paint which was so frequently used in the “Blind Banker” case. The can is standing on the coffee table in front of the sofa. As the downstairs door closes Sherlock sighs, turns his head to the front again and then raises his left hand which is holding a pistol. He points the pistol towards the smiley face and – without even looking in that direction – fires two shots at it. A close-up view reveals that there are already two bullet holes in the wall where the two eyes had been sprayed, and the two new bullets have impacted the curve of the smile.**

“Wow! I never knew Holmes was such a great shot!” Sally begrudgingly compliments. Deep down, she still hates him for what happened when they first met, but where acknowledgement was due, she’d give it.

**Sherlock turns his head to look at the face and fires a third shot which either misses the smile or was deliberately aimed to form a ‘nose’ for the face. As he fires a fourth time, John comes running up the stairs with his fingers in his ears. He stops on the landing, lowers his hands and yells at his flatmate.**

**JOHN: What the hell are you doing?**

**SHERLOCK (sulkily): Bored.**

**JOHN (more quietly, squinting at him in disbelief): What?**

**SHERLOCK (loudly): Bored!**

“ _That’s_ what he does when he’s bored? Okay, job or not, you can’t tell me that that’s not psychotic!” Sally protested.

John scowled at her. “At least he doesn’t _murder_ people when he’s bored, like _some_ people we know,” he pointed out. His face pinched; even the thought of Moriarty sent a shiver down his spine and flood of rage through his veins.

“Still! Who shoots up a perfectly good wall?”

“Sherlock. When he’s bored.”

**He springs up out of the chair. John immediately recoils and covers his ears with his hands.**

**JOHN: No ...**

**Sherlock switches the pistol to his right hand and turns towards the smiley face, firing at it again. He then swings his arm around his back, twists slightly to his right and fires at the wall from behind his back.**

**SHERLOCK (angrily): Bored! Bored!**

**As he brings his arm back around, John hurries into the room and Sherlock continues to glare at the smiley face but allows John to snatch the pistol from his hand. John quickly slides the clip out of the gun while Sherlock walks towards the sofa.**

**SHERLOCK (sulkily): Don’t know what’s got into the criminal classes. Good job I’m not one of them.**

John looked pointed at Sally as Sherlock said this.

**John locks the pistol into a small safe on the dining table and then straightens up.**

**JOHN: So, you take it out on the wall.**

**SHERLOCK (running his fingers along the painted smile): Ah, the wall had it coming.**

“What did it do, I wonder?” Molly asked with a cheery grin. She seemed highly amused by the detective’s domestic life. This kidnapping sure gave them a wonderous inside scoop of how John and Sherlock solve cases, but also their interesting day-to-day activities. She’d never thought she’d be so amused at a man buying groceries, but it happened.

**He turns sideways and dramatically flops down onto the sofa on his back, his head landing on a cushion at one end and his feet digging into the arm of the sofa at the end nearest the windows.**

**JOHN (taking off his coat): What about that Russian case?**

**Sherlock pushes with his feet to shove himself further along the sofa and into a slightly more upright position, and then starts kneading the arm of the sofa with his toes.)**

**SHERLOCK: Belarus. Open and shut domestic murder. Not worth my time.**

“Is that really how he judges his cases? Whether he can figure them out right away or not?” Lestrade looked at John for clarification. The latter shrugged.

**JOHN (sarcastically): Ah, shame!**

**He walks into the kitchen and throws up his arms in despair at the mess on the table which greets him. He heads towards the fridge.**

**JOHN: Anything in? I’m starving.**

**He opens the fridge door.**

**JOHN: Oh, f...**

**He immediately slams it shut again, unable to believe what he just saw inside. He slumps against the door for a moment, his head lowered, then he straightens up and opens the door again. On the shelf inside is a man’s head, cut off at the neck, the face looking towards the door. He stares at it for a couple of seconds, then quietly closes the door again.**

**JOHN: It’s a head.**

**He turns and calls out.**

**JOHN: A severed head!**

**SHERLOCK: Just tea for me, thanks.**

Everyone, despite their feelings of the man, burst into laughter, and could not stop for several seconds. The video had graciously paused to allow them to do so without missing anything.

**JOHN (walking back into the living room): No, there’s a head in the fridge.**

**SHERLOCK (calmly): Yes.**

**JOHN: A bloody head!**

**SHERLOCK (stroppily): Well, where else was I supposed to put it? (He looks at John.) You don’t mind, do you?**

**John holds out his hands despairingly and looks back towards the fridge.**

**SHERLOCK: I got it from Bart’s morgue.**

**John buries his head in one hand.**

**SHERLOCK: I’m measuring the coagulation of saliva after death.**

“Couldn’t you do that, you know, _at the morgue?_ ” Sally demanded of the on-screen detective.

“Yeah,” Anderson agreed, “I bet Molly would’ve liked that. Seeing him more often, I mean,” He hastily added the last bit upon seeing the strange looks cast his way. Molly blushed.

**He waves his hand vaguely in the direction of a nearby laptop.**

**SHERLOCK: I see you’ve written up the taxi driver case.**

**JOHN (throwing one last glance at the fridge): Uh, yes.**

**He walks over to Sherlock’s armchair and sits down.**

**SHERLOCK: “A Study in Pink.” Nice!**

**JOHN: Well, you know, pink lady, pink case, pink phone – there was a lot of pink. Did you like it?**

**Even as John has been speaking, Sherlock has picked up a magazine from the coffee table and he now flips it open and addresses his answer to the pages.**

**SHERLOCK: Erm, no.**

**JOHN: Why not? I thought you’d be flattered.**

**SHERLOCK (lowering the magazine and glaring at him): Flattered? (He raises his index fingers and narrates a section of the blog.) “Sherlock sees through everything and everyone in seconds. What’s incredible, though, is how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things.”**

**JOHN: Now hang on a minute. I didn’t mean that in a ...**

**SHERLOCK (interrupting): Oh, you meant “spectacularly ignorant” in a nice way! Look, it doesn’t matter to me who’s Prime Minister ...**

**JOHN (quietly): I know ...**

**SHERLOCK: ... or who’s sleeping with who ...**

“You mean who’s sleeping with _whom_ , brother,” Mycroft softly corrected.

**JOHN (softly): Whether the Earth goes around the Sun ...**

**SHERLOCK: Not that again. It’s not important.**

**JOHN: Not impor...**

**He shifts his position in the chair to face Sherlock.**

**JOHN: It’s primary school stuff. How can you not know that?**

**SHERLOCK (pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes): Well, if I ever did, I’ve deleted it.**

**JOHN: “Deleted it”?**

**SHERLOCK (swinging his legs around to the floor and sitting up to face John): Listen. (He points to his head with one finger.) This is my hard drive, and it only makes sense to put things in there that are useful ... really useful.**

“I bet this comes back later to bite him in the rump,” Lestrade muttered.

John, unable to contain himself, snorted with laughter.

**He grimaces.**

**SHERLOCK: Ordinary people fill their heads with all kinds of rubbish, and that makes it hard to get at the stuff that matters. Do you see?**

**John looks at him for a moment, trying to bite his lip but then can’t contain himself.**

**JOHN: But it’s the solar system!**

**Sherlock briefly buries his head in his hands.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, hell! What does that matter?!**

**He looks at John in frustration.**

**SHERLOCK: So, we go round the Sun! If we went round the Moon, or round and round the garden like a teddy bear ... (he flails his hands around beside his head while narrating the line from the childen’s poem) ... it wouldn’t make any difference. All that matters to me is the work. Without that, my brain rots.**

“Oh, so _that_ he remembers!” Sally said.

“Mother always used to read it to him as a child. I’d actually be surprised if he _did_ manage to delete it,” Mycroft explained.

**He ruffles his hair with both hands, then glares at John.**

**SHERLOCK: Put that in your blog. Or better still, stop inflicting your opinions on the world.**

**Petulantly shoving the magazine across the coffee table, he lies down on the sofa again, turning over with his back to John and pulling his dressing gown around him while curling up into a ball. John looks away and purses his lips. The front door downstairs opens and closes. John stands up and walks towards the living room door.**

**SHERLOCK (looking over his shoulder): Where are you going?**

**JOHN (tightly, putting on his jacket): Out. I need some air.**

**He heads for the stairs, which Mrs. Hudson is just coming up.**

**JOHN: ’Scuse me, Mrs. ...**

**MRS. HUDSON: Oh, sorry, love!**

**JOHN: Sorry.**

**Angrily, Sherlock turns his face away again, pulling the cushion under his head nearer to the back of the sofa and curling up even tighter. Mrs. Hudson chuckles at John as he passes her but then turns and looks at him in concern as he hurries down the stairs. She comes to the living room door and knocks.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Ooh-ooh!**

**Sherlock stretches his legs out straight and turns his head enough to acknowledge her existence, but then looks away again. Mrs. Hudson carries a couple of shopping bags into the kitchen.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Have you two had a little domestic?**

“Mrs. Hudson!” John sighed in aggravation.

“Well, she wasn’t wrong,” Lestrade said to the poor, embarrassed man.

**Flailing to get himself upright, Sherlock stands up off the sofa and takes the shortest route to his destination, walking over the coffee table and going to the left-hand window just as the downstairs door opens and closes.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Ooh, it’s a bit nippy out there. He should have wrapped himself up a bit more.**

**Sherlock watches John as he crosses the street and heads in the general direction of away.**

**SHERLOCK: Look at that, Mrs. Hudson. (He scans the street.) Quiet, calm, peaceful. (He grimaces and drags in a long breath.) Isn’t it hateful?**

**Mrs. Hudson has unloaded some items from her shopping bags and now brandishes a receipt at Sherlock before putting it down on the kitchen table.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Oh, I’m sure something’ll turn up, Sherlock. A nice murder – that’ll cheer you up.**

“I never noticed this before, but Mrs. Hudson, you’re rather vicious, aren’t you?”

Mrs. Hudson just smiled at Anderson, causing his whole body to roll with terrified shivers.

**She chuckles slightly as she carries her bags towards the living room door.**

**SHERLOCK (wistfully): Can’t come too soon.**

**MRS. HUDSON (stopping when she spots the damaged wall): Hey. What’ve you done to my bloody wall?!**

**Sherlock quirks a smile and turns around to admire his handiwork.**

A brief session of laughter rose from those watching. It was rather enjoyable, in fact, to watch the domesticity of the detective. For many in the room, they were seeing a new side to Sherlock that they’d never known about. As the footage showed him in all instances, they saw everything. For some, it was curious as to how the detective’s personality and demeanour changed depending on who he was in contact with.

With John and Mrs. Hudson, he was generally the annoying man they all knew, though there were moments when emotion shone through his cold outward appearance. With Molly, it was much more noticeable. Obviously, he used his aggression and rudeness towards her as an attempt to hide his feelings, which were easily discerned by his general dislike for all others who showed an interest in her. The yarders relieved mostly his professionalism, nothing more than the brilliant detective, nor less than the quick-witted verbal sparring partner for the two knuckleheads. And, of course, whenever Sherlock was around his brother, they received a breath of fresh air as he butted heads against his brother, seeming human for a change in the presence of his elder sibling.

**MRS. HUDSON (angrily): I’m putting this on your rent, young man!**

**She storms off down the stairs. Sherlock grins over-dramatically at the bullet-riddled smiley face,**

“Wait. Wait. Wait! How did he move from the living room to the dining room so quickly?” Donovan asked. Her eyebrows furrowed, and it was clear that she had gears turning within her head, trying to figure it out. However, the gears were stuck and clanked loudly, as she was at a loss in being able to figure it out.

“He walked over there while Mrs. Hudson was fretting over the wall,” John said.

“Oh.”

**then sighs and turns his head to the front just as a massive explosion goes off in the street behind him. The windows blow in and the blast hurls him forward and to the floor. As the scene fades to black, he groans...**

“Oh no! Sherlock!” Molly cried out in alarm.

“Don’t worry, he’ll be fine,” Joh tried to reassure her, “You saw him afterward, remember?”

*****

**...his groan morphs into a groan coming from John, who is just waking up the next morning in the living room of Sarah Sawyer’s flat. Sitting up on the sofa with his shirt unbuttoned, he has apparently slept on said sofa and he is grimacing and trying to un-crick his neck. Sarah walks in, wearing a dressing gown.**

**SARAH: Morning!**

**JOHN: Oh, mor... (He turns to look at her but grimaces again and grabs at his neck in pain.) Morning.**

**SARAH: See? Told you, you should’ve gone with the lilo.**

**JOHN (still rubbing his neck): No, no, no, it’s fine. I-I slept fine. It’s very kind of you.**

**Sarah has been scanning the sofa as he spoke and has now spotted what she was looking for. She reaches behind John’s back to pick up the remote control for the TV, then sits on the arm of the sofa and turns on the telly.**

**SARAH: Well, maybe next time I’ll let you kip at the end of my bed, you know.**

“Thanks! But we really don’t need to see this!” Anderson yelled at the ceiling, hoping that their captor could just skip over the part of John trying to get with girls. Like… maybe every time it happened, they could just skip it was his thought. That didn’t seem to be the case for poor Anderson.

**She looks at him suggestively, then turns her head towards the TV screen.**

**JOHN (also looking at the screen): What about the time after that?**

**She looks at him and grins briefly. John turns his head towards her but doesn’t meet her eyes.)**

**NEWSREADER (on the TV): Experts are hailing it as the artistic find of the century.**

**The news item is showing a photo of the Hickman Art Gallery, with a headline at the bottom of the screen saying “The Lost Vermeer.”**

**NEWSREADER (on the TV): The last time ...**

**SARAH (putting down the remote): So, d’you want some breakfast?**

**JOHN: Love some.**

**SARAH: Yeah, well you’d better make it yourself, ’cause I’m gonna have a shower!**

Molly let out a snort of laughter, her hand quickly shooting up in an attempt to cover it. Mrs. Hudson did the same. The only difference was hat the old woman felt no shame in her amusement and so, let her dying-owl laugh – as Sherlock would’ve called it – ring loudly through the room.

**NEWSREADER (on the TV): ... it fetched over twenty million pounds.**

**John looks at Sarah as she smiles at him sassily before leaving the room. He chuckles silently and starts buttoning his shirt.**

**NEWSREADER (on the TV): This one is anticipated to do even better. Back now to our main story. There’s been a massive explosion in central London.**

**John looks at the TV screen and his face fills with shock as the picture changes to show live footage of a road where brickwork is scattered all over the pavement, and police cordons have been set up to keep people out. The headline at the bottom of the screen reads, “House destroyed on Baker St.”**

“I bet’cha he runs straight home to Sherlock,” Donovan muttered to Lestrade.

He looked at her as if she was crazy. “No deal. We both know that’s what he’s goin’ ta do.”

**NEWSREADER (on the TV): As yet, there are no reports of any casualties, and the police are unable to say if there is any suspicion of terrorist involvement.**

**John is already on his feet and he hurries around the sofa to grab his jacket before turning towards the door and calling out.**

**JOHN: Sarah!**

**He stops and looks at the TV screen briefly.**

**NEWSREADER (on the TV): Police have issued an emergency number for friends and relatives ...**

**JOHN: Sarah!**

**He heads towards the front door, not even waiting for Sarah to reply to him.**

**JOHN: Sorry – I’ve got to run.**

“And Sherlock’s possibly in danger, so he leaves his girlfriend’s house and rushes home to save his damsel in distress!” Anderson said dramatically with a bright grin.

“For the _last time_ ,” John said, “Sherlock and I _weren’t_ dating!”

*****

**BAKER STREET. John comes around the corner of the street almost opposite the flat, then stops briefly and stares. Continuing onwards, he heads towards the police cordon and makes his way through the small crowd of gawking onlookers.**

**JOHN: ’Scuse me, can I get through? ’Scuse me.**

**He approaches one of the police officers who is stopping the crowd from getting closer.**

**JOHN: Can I go through?**

**He points towards 221 and the police officer lets him through. John walks into the main scene of devastation where bricks and dust are scattered all over the road and pavement. A fire engine is still on the scene and fire hoses are lying in the road waiting to be reeled back in. The windows and shop fronts of the buildings either side of Speedy’s have been boarded up; Speedy’s itself was protected by its metal roll-down screen. John stops and stares at the building directly opposite the café. The front of the ground and first floor has been completely blown out by the explosion and the rooms inside are exposed to the air. John turns and hurries towards 221, where the first-floor windows have also been boarded up. A police officer standing outside Speedy’s moves to intercept him, but John explains.**

**JOHN: I live over there.**

**The officer steps aside and John unlocks the door and goes inside. He races up the stairs.**

**JOHN: Sherlock. Sherlock!**

“Just look at him! He’s so worried! The poor lad,” Mrs. Hudson exclaimed.

**As he hurries into the living room, his eye is drawn to the boarded-up windows, then to his armchair, but his gaze quickly turns to Sherlock’s chair where Sherlock, now dressed and wearing a purple shirt under his jacket, is apparently uninjured and is intermittently plucking the strings of the violin he is holding on his chest while he glares petulantly towards John’s chair.**

**SHERLOCK (looking up at his flatmate): John.**

“And there he is! Just sittin’ there! Like nothin’s wrong! How does he just walk away from a bomb like its nothin’?” Sally shouted, gesturing wildly to the screen. Luckily, she was no longer using any degrading terms to describe the detective, so no one had to say anything.

**The reason for Sherlock’s annoyance – his brother Mycroft, who is sitting in John’s chair – glances round at John.**

**JOHN (to Sherlock): I saw it on the telly. Are you okay?**

**SHERLOCK: Hmm? What? (He looks around at the mess of broken glass and scattered paperwork as if he has forgotten it – which he probably has.) Oh, yeah. Fine. Gas leak, apparently.**

“He doesn’t believe that for one second,” Lestrade said, “And neither do I. Even if I didn’t know what happened, I doubt I would believe a lie that bad.”

“Agreed,” said the two other Yarders.

**He turns his attention back to his brother, who stares at him pointedly while Sherlock plucks his violin strings again.**

**SHERLOCK: I can’t.**

“What is he talking about?” Sally questioned, sneering at the screen. Things were just moving too fast for her.

“Some case of Mycroft’s, I reckon,” Lestrade answered her in a whisper.

**MYCROFT: “Can’t”?**

**SHERLOCK: The stuff I’ve got on is just too big. I can’t spare the time.**

“Wasn’t he just complaining earlier that he was so bored because he didn’t have a case?” Anderson stage-whispered to everyone.

“He wasn’t complaining,” Mrs. Hudson grumbled, “He was shooting up my bloody walls!”

“In any case, he was, but he’s just too stubborn to admit it. He’d never willingly take a case from his brother,” John said, sending an apologetic look to the elder Holmes.

**John looks across to him in disbelief.**

**MYCROFT: Never mind your usual trivia. This is of national importance.**

**SHERLOCK (sulkily flicking his fingers across the strings): How’s the diet?**

**MYCROFT (refusing to rise to the implied insult): Fine. Perhaps you can get through to him, John.**

**JOHN (who has walked nearer to the windows to investigate the damage): What?**

**MYCROFT: I’m afraid my brother can be very intransigent.**

“What does that word even mean, Mycroft? I never asked.” John turned to the elder Holmes.

He received only a side glance in return. “Perhaps I should have put it into starker terms, John, “ he said, “My brother was being stubborn, as you simpletons would say.”

“Oh.”

**SHERLOCK: If you’re so keen, why don’t you investigate it?**

**MYCROFT: No-no-no-no-no. I can’t possibly be away from the office for any length of time – not with the Korean elections so ...**

**He trails off as John turns towards him in surprise and Sherlock raises his head from looking at his violin.**

**MYCROFT: Well, you don’t need to know about that, do you?**

**He smiles humourlessly in a clear message to forget what he just said.**

**MYCROFT: Besides, a case like this – it requires ... (he grimaces in distaste) ... legwork.**

**Sherlock mis-plucks one of his strings, an irritated look on his face. He turns to John, who is absently rubbing the back of his neck with one hand.**

**SHERLOCK: How’s Sarah, John? How was the lilo?**

“And, _of course,_ he knows that you slept on the lilo,” Molly said with a laugh at John’s expense.

“Why wouldn’t he? It was all over your face,” Lestrade asked, “And the rest of you for that matter.”

“Really? How so?” John turned to the detective inspector. He’d never known that Lestrade could tell. Then again, he’d gotten to the position of DI. However, compared to Sherlock, Lestrade was always overlooked. Whenever he got a case of particular difficulty, as any regular human would, he was confused, until Sherlock steppe din and explained it all to him without hesitation or sugar lacing his tongue. They way Sherlock spoke made everyone around him seem so far inferior that it was easy to forget that Lestrade had earned his place in New Scotland Yard long before Sherlock became a detective.

Lestrade scoffed. “well, first of all, your shirt is crumpled, but not in the way it would be if you’d been… y’know. Second, you’re walking with a slight hunch, indicating neck pain, as we saw from the earlier footage. That, paired with the bags under your eyes, means you didn’t have a very good night’s sleep,” Lestrade listed the facts in a very Sherlockian way, leaving the others slightly astounded by the abilities he’d seemed to pick up from the strange man over the years of knowing him.

**MYCROFT (consulting his pocket watch and not even looking at John): Sofa, Sherlock. It was the sofa.**

**Sherlock briefly looks John up and down.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh yes, of course.**

Molly leaned in, “I’m a bit intrigued by their relationship. If anyone else had corrected him he would’ve gone off at them, but not Mycroft.”

“Let’s just say he was well trained in knowing which of us was the _smarter_ brother,” Mycroft said smugly.

**JOHN (incredulously): How ...? Oh, never mind.**

**He sits down on the coffee table. Mycroft smiles across at him.**

Sally shivered. “Don’t smile like that! It’s creepy!”

“At least he smiles. Sherlock never smiled. Unless it was forced, and you could really tell when it was forced,” Anderson interjected.

“Elder Holmes’ smile is forced, too. Can’t you tell?”

“But it’s less so. He’s used to playing that part, whereas sherlock really just never cared about society,” John interrupted the argument between the two Yarders.

**MYCROFT: Sherlock’s business seems to be booming since you and he became ... pals.**

“Even Mycroft thinks you guys are together romantically! And he’s the only one that Sherlock seems to understand what he’s referring to! How does that possibly make sense?” Anderson pointing out, throwing his hands forward toward the television.

“I think it’s selective hearing, young man,” Mrs. Hudson said snarkily.

**Sherlock throws him a dark look.**

**MYCROFT (to John): What’s he like to live with? Hellish, I imagine.**

**JOHN: I’m never bored.**

“I’ll eat my hat if that isn’t the biggest understatement of all time!” Anderson declared.

None commented.

**MYCROFT (smiling condescendingly): Good! That’s good, isn’t it?**

**Again, Sherlock glares at him. Mycroft stands up as Sherlock picks up his bow and whips one end through the air in front of him. Picking up a folder from the table beside him, Mycroft steps forward and offers the folder to his brother but Sherlock just looks back at him stubbornly. Grimacing and poking his tongue into the corner of his mouth, Mycroft turns and offers the folder to John instead.**

**MYCROFT: Andrew West, known as Westie to his friends.**

**Looking startled, John takes the folder.**

**MYCROFT: A civil servant, found dead on the tracks at Battersea Station this morning with his head smashed in.**

**Cut-away flashback to a Tube guard walking along a railway line in the early morning. The beam from his flashlight picks out the body of a young man lying just beside the tracks.**

**JOHN: Jumped in front of a train?**

**MYCROFT: Seems the logical assumption.**

**JOHN (quirking a brief smile): But ...?**

**MYCROFT: “But”?**

**JOHN: Well, you wouldn’t be here if it was just an accident.**

**Sherlock, who is now applying rosin to his bow with a small cloth, smirks noisily.**

“Is it just me, or does Sherlock react to John a lot and no one ever notices it? Because if not for the image cutting to Sherlock. I never would’ve heard that! _Or_ seen his smirk!” Sally exclaimed.

“I guess so, yeah…” John agreed, though he seemed unsure.

**MYCROFT: The M.O.D. is working on a new missile defence system – the Bruce-Partington Programme, it’s called.**

**He looks at Sherlock while John starts flicking through the folder.**

**MYCROFT: The plans for it were on a memory stick.**

**John sniggers quietly.**

**JOHN: That wasn’t very clever.**

**Sherlock smiles in agreement.**

**MYCROFT (to John): It’s not the only copy.**

**JOHN: Oh.**

**MYCROFT: But it is secret. And missing.**

“Oooh! That’s not good!” Anderson snickered childishly, before being smacked by Sally. With a grunt of protest, he was cut off as she hissed, “That’s a bad thing, idiot!”

**JOHN: Top secret?**

**MYCROFT: Very. We think West must have taken the memory stick. We can’t possibly risk it falling into the wrong hands.**

**He turns back to his brother.**

**MYCROFT: You’ve got to find those plans, Sherlock. Don’t make me order you.**

**Breathing in sharply through his nose, Sherlock raises the violin to his shoulder, ready to play. He looks calmly at his brother.**

**SHERLOCK: I’d like to see you try.**

“Would it be strange if I’d like to see how this would play out, too?” Molly asked, just out of curiosity. No one spared her a second glance, so she assumed it wasn’t. And as such, she continued to ponder a scene where this very situation was happening.

**MYCROFT (leaning down to him a little in an attempt to look more threatening): Think it over.**

**Sherlock stares back at him, unimpressed. Mycroft turns and walks over to John, offering him his hand to shake.**

**MYCROFT: Goodbye, John.**

**Politely, John stands and shakes his hand. Mycroft smiles at him creepily.**

**MYCROFT: See you very soon.**

**John tries not to look nervous. As Mycroft heads back towards the chair to pick up his coat, Sherlock begins to repeatedly play a short irritating sequence of notes. John frowns across to him but Sherlock continues to play until Mycroft has left the room and is on the stairs. Grimacing in the direction of his brother’s back, Sherlock finishes his playing and lowers the violin, still looking annoyed. John sits back down on the coffee table and waits until Mycroft has reached the ground floor and is out of earshot before he speaks.**

**JOHN: Why’d you lie?**

**Sherlock looks across to him as the front door bangs shut.**

**JOHN: You’ve got nothing on – not a single case. That’s why the wall took a pounding. Why did you tell your brother you were busy?**

**SHERLOCK (shrugging): Why shouldn’t I?**

**JOHN: Oh! (He nods.) Oh, I see.**

**Sherlock’s eyes drift in his direction but he doesn’t actually look at him.**

**JOHN: Sibling rivalry. Now we’re getting somewhere.**

“That’s certainly deeper into his life than anyone has been before! And only a few months into knowing the bloke! Well done, John!” Lestrade congratulated, though inside, he was slightly envious of the man. After knowing Sherlock for so many years, he didn’t know half of what was going on in the taller man’s head most of the time. And then John came waltzing in and took his place as Sherlock’s main acquaintance – even became his friend! – and was learning things left, right, and centre about the man!

At least they were all learning to together, now.

**Sherlock turns and opens his mouth but before he can deny everything his phone starts to ring. He irritably whips his bow down again, puts it on the seat beside him and fishes his phone out of his jacket pocket.**

**SHERLOCK (into phone): Sherlock Holmes.**

**He listens for a moment, then his expression intensifies.**

**SHERLOCK: Of course. How could I refuse?**

**Standing up and switching off the phone as he puts his violin onto the seat, he heads for the door.**

**SHERLOCK: Lestrade. I’ve been summoned. Coming?**

Mycroft scoffed at the screen.

John smiled. “Poor Mycroft. When Lestrade calls, Sherlock’s up and wagging his tail like a dog to his master.”

**JOHN: If you want me to.**

**SHERLOCK: Of course. (Picking up his coat, he turns back to him.)**

**SHERLOCK: I’d be lost without my blogger.**

The blatant sarcasm of that last statement was not lost on the viewers, but neither was the underlining sincerity behind it. There was a deeper meaning there.

As the screen went black again, Sally sighed. “We’re only ten minutes in, I think,” she said, “But it seems like longer. How many more of these is there going to be?”

“No idea, but after this one – when we meet Moriarty – there were at least three more major cases before…” John trailed off.

“Before what, John?” Molly prompted.

“Before the fall.”

A silence fell over the room. They all sat, thinking about what they’d been shown so far. Even after only two cases, sherlock was changing in the presence of John. Before, he’d been cold and calculating. He was still such but had also grown softer – no longer the unfeeling man of facts and figures. He was cracking jokes, now that they were able to catch. For some reason, they hadn’t noticed whenever he’d told a joke. Maybe because they weren’t expecting it, but Sherlock was, indeed, a very witty individual.

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	19. 1x3 Part 2 - The Great Game

When the screen started up again, the viewers were unprepared, and looked up jerkily at the sound of a vehicle.

**After a taxi ride during which, bizarrely, Sherlock has briefly changed into a white shirt, the boys arrive at New Scotland Yard and are following Detective Inspector Lestrade across the general office towards his office.**

**LESTRADE: You like the funny cases, don’t you? The surprising ones.**

**SHERLOCK: Obviously.**

**LESTRADE: You’ll love this. That explosion ...**

**SHERLOCK (briefly exchanging glares with Detective Sergeant Donovan as he walks past her desk): Gas leak, yes?**

**LESTRADE: No.**

**SHERLOCK: No?**

“Sherlock was fooled? It _must_ be Moriarty’s work, then,” Molly said confidently, though she shuddered upon uttering the name of her madman ex-boyfriend.

**LESTRADE: No. Made to look like one.**

**JOHN: What?**

**By now they’re in Lestrade’s office and Sherlock stops and stares down at a white envelope lying on a desk.**

**LESTRADE: Hardly anything left of the place except a strong box – a very strong box – and inside it was this.**

“Oh! I remember this! This was the beginning of Moriarty’s wild goose chase for Sherlock, wasn’t it?” Anderson asked, turning to John. The man in question just sent Anderson a blank look, as if he couldn’t believe that the former – although known to be a little slow – was only just figuring it out.

**He points to what Sherlock’s looking at.**

**SHERLOCK: You haven’t opened it?**

**LESTRADE: It’s addressed to you, isn’t it?**

**Sherlock reaches towards the envelope.**

**LESTRADE: We’ve X-rayed it. It’s not booby-trapped.**

**SHERLOCK (hesitating slightly): How reassuring!**

**He picks up the envelope and takes it across the room to another table which has an anglepoise lamp on it. Holding the envelope close to the bulb he examines both sides carefully. On the front in elegant handwriting are the words “Sherlock Holmes – by hand.”**

**SHERLOCK: Nice stationery. Bohemian.**

**LESTRADE: What?**

**SHERLOCK: From the Czech Republic. No fingerprints?**

**LESTRADE: No.**

**SHERLOCK (looking closely at the writing): She used a fountain pen. A Parker Duofold – iridium nib.**

**JOHN: “She”?**

“Wait… Who was it again who wrote that. Did you ever find out? Or was it Moriarty pretending to be a girl?” Sally asked John.

John shrugged. “Don’t remember. Maybe, we’ll see,” he replied.

**SHERLOCK: Obviously.**

**JOHN (struggling not to sigh): Obviously!**

**Sherlock picks up a letter opener from the desk and carefully slits the envelope open. He looks inside, and his mouth opens a little in surprise as he reaches in and takes out a pink iPhone.**

**JOHN (shocked): But that’s – that’s the phone, the pink phone.**

**LESTRADE: What, from the Study in Pink?**

**SHERLOCK: Well, obviously it’s not the same phone but it’s supposed to look like ...**

**He stops when he realises what Lestrade just said. He turns to face him. Sally has come into the room to put some files down on a desk near the door.**

**SHERLOCK: The Study in Pink? You read his blog?**

“Oh, so _that_ was his reaction?” Anderson asked. “Donovan, you liar! I paid fifty quib on that bet!”

Sally’s eyes were wide as she’d been caught in the act. She sighed. “I guess you got me. Sorry.”

**LESTRADE: Course I read his blog! We all do. D’you really not know that the Earth goes around the Sun?**

**Sally sniggers loudly. Sherlock, who is taking off his gloves, glares at her while John purses his lips in embarrassment. Sally leaves the room and Sherlock turns his concentration back to the phone.**

**SHERLOCK: It isn’t the same phone. This one’s brand new.**

**He’s looking at the connection sockets, none of which have scratches around them.**

**SHERLOCK: Someone’s gone to a lot of trouble to make it look like the same phone, which means your blog has a far wider readership.**

“For some people, that would be great, but not when you start receiving fan mail like this,” Molly muttered under her breath. The annoyance running through her was immense, but it was pushed aside by a deep spike of dread, as she knew that the others would most likely see the time when Sherlock first met Moriarty, or as he was known at the time, Jim.

**He throws an accusatory look at John, who does his best to ignore it. Sherlock switches on the phone and immediately gets a voice alert.**

**VOICE ALERT: You have one new message.**

**The message plays but there is no voice – just the unmistakable sound of the Greenwich Time Signal. However, while the “Greenwich pips” – as they’re more generally called – consist of five short pips and one longer tone, this recording has only four short pips and the longer one. Strangely, nobody ever comments on this.**

**JOHN: Is that it?**

**SHERLOCK: No. That’s not it.**

**A photograph has also been uploaded to the phone. He opens it and Lestrade comes across to look over his shoulder. The picture is of an unfurnished room with a fireplace on one wall. The wallpaper is peeling and there’s a tall mirror propped up in one corner. A smaller mirror – the type which is usually hung up above a fireplace – is standing on the mantelpiece.**

**LESTRADE: What the hell are we supposed to make of that? An estate agent’s photo and the bloody Greenwich pips!**

**SHERLOCK (gazing thoughtfully into the distance): It’s a warning.**

**JOHN: A warning?**

**SHERLOCK: Some secret societies used to send dried melon seeds, orange pips, things like that. Five pips. They’re warning us it’s gonna happen again.**

**He briefly looks down at the photo again, then brandishes the phone at the others as he starts to leave the office.**

**SHERLOCK: And I’ve seen this place before.**

**JOHN (following him): H-hang on. What’s gonna happen again?**

**SHERLOCK (turning back and raising his hands dramatically): Boom!**

Molly chuckled. “if you really think about it, Sherlock is a bit of a child. He likes to act all sophisticated, but with dramatic outbursts like that, his flare really shines through.”

**He heads off with John behind him. Lestrade grabs his coat and hurries after them.**

*****

**BAKER STREET. A taxi pulls up outside 221 and Sherlock, John and Lestrade get out. Sherlock unlocks the front door and leads the way inside, bypassing the stairs and heading along the corridor towards Mrs. Hudson’s front door. Just as he reaches it, he stops and turns to the left where there is another door which must lead to a basement flat. Numbers and letters stuck on the door read, “221c”. Sherlock turns his head and calls out loudly towards his landlady’s front door.**

**SHERLOCK: Mrs. Hudson!**

*****

**Shortly afterwards, Mrs. Hudson opens the front door of 221A and hands Sherlock a set of keys. He has been examining the padlock attached to the other door and now takes the keys and begins to unlock it.**

**MRS. HUDSON: You had a look, didn’t you, Sherlock, when you first came to see about your flat.**

**SHERLOCK (looking closely at the door’s keyhole): The door’s been opened recently.**

**MRS. HUDSON: No, can’t be. That’s the only key.**

**Pulling the padlock off, Sherlock selects another key and puts it into the door’s keyhole.**

**MRS. HUDSON: I can’t get anyone interested in this flat. It’s the damp, I expect. That’s the curse of basements.**

**Sherlock turns the key and pulls open the door. He immediately goes inside and John and Lestrade follow, taking little or no notice of Mrs. H as she continues rambling on.**

**MRS. HUDSON: I had a place once when I was first married. Black mould all up the walls ...**

**She trails to a halt as Lestrade closes the door behind him. She turns and heads back into her own flat.**

**MRS. HUDSON (exasperated): Oh! Men!**

Sally and Molly nodded in agreement, glaring at the men in the room. Lestrade had the decency to look down in shame, embarrassment flooding his cheeks a deep rouge.

*****

**Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Sherlock slowly pushes open the door to the living room and walks inside, followed by the other two. The room looks exactly as it did in the photograph on the phone with one exception: there is a pair of trainers placed neatly side by side in the middle of the floor, their toes pointed towards the door. John stops and looks at them before stating the bleedin’ obvious.**

**JOHN: Shoes.**

**Sherlock starts to walk towards them, but John holds out a cautionary hand towards him.**

**JOHN: He’s a bomber, remember.**

**Sherlock stops for a moment, then continues slowly towards the trainers. He crouches down, then puts his hands on the floor and leans forward. Lowering his body down he moves closer to the shoes. Just as his nose is almost touching them, a phone rings. Sherlock jumps, closes his eyes momentarily and then stands up, pulls off his glove and takes the pink iPhone from his coat pocket and looks at the caller I.D. It reads, “NUMBER BLOCKED”. He pauses for a second, then switches on the speaker, holding the phone a few inches in front of his mouth.**

**SHERLOCK (softly): Hello?**

**A female voice draws in a shaky breath before speaking tearfully.**

**WOMAN’s VOICE: H-hello ... sexy.**

“Was Moriarty flirting with him, even then? Was it all some sort of sick joke?” Sally questioned, disgusted by the psychopath’s antics.

“So you _do_ admit that Moriarty was real!” Lestrade said triumphantly.

Sally looked like a deer in the headlights but eventually sighed, grumbled quietly to herself.

**John and Lestrade exchange a puzzled look as the woman sobs.**

**SHERLOCK: Who’s this?**

**WOMAN’s VOICE (tearfully): I’ve ... sent you ... a little puzzle ... just to say hi.**

**SHERLOCK: Who’s talking? Why are you crying?**

**WOMAN’s VOICE (shakily and full of tears): I-I’m not ... crying ... I’m typing ...**

**We now see that the woman at the other end of the line is sitting in the driver’s seat of a car holding a phone to her ear with one shaking hand and holding a pager in the other hand. Her face is covered with tears and she looks terrified as she reads from the pager.**

**WOMAN: ... and this ... stupid ... bitch ... is reading it out.**

**She sobs again. Sherlock gazes thoughtfully into the distance.**

**SHERLOCK (softly): The curtain rises.**

“How sick-minded could he get?” Sally whispered to herself. Luckily, no one else heard her, or she would’ve received a few more dirty looks, despite being reasonably justified for her response, at least in her own mind.

**JOHN: What?**

**SHERLOCK: Nothing.**

**JOHN: No, what did you mean?**

**SHERLOCK (half turning his head towards him): I’ve been expecting this for some time.**

**WOMAN: Twelve hours to solve ... my puzzle, Sherlock ...**

**We now see that the car is in a car park. People are going about their everyday business, unaware that a large explosive device is strapped to the woman’s chest. A red laser point travels over the device and her neck, suggesting that a sniper is aiming at her from some distance away.**

**WOMAN: ... or I’m going ... to be ... so naughty.**

“I’m not crazy, right?” Anderson asked, “Moriarty is totally flirting with Sherlock here?”

"You are crazy," Sally agreed, "But I think that this is flirting."

**The phone goes dead, and the woman looks down at the bomb and the laser light, and sobs in despair.**

*****

**ST BARTHOLOMEW’S HOSPITAL. Sherlock has brought the trainers to a lab and is putting on a pair of latex gloves while he looks closely at them. He picks them up, examines the laces carefully and peers at the shoes from all directions, then digs out dried mud from the treads in the soles and puts it into a dish. Putting the shoes down again, he looks at them thoughtfully.**

*****

**Later, he is sitting at a bench looking into a microscope while, beside him, a computer screen shows that a scanner of some sort is running tests. John is wandering up and down on the other side of the bench.**

**JOHN: So, who d’you suppose it was?**

**A phone trills a text alert.**

**SHERLOCK (absently, not reacting to the alert): Hmm?**

**JOHN: The woman on the phone – the crying woman.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, she doesn’t matter. She’s just a hostage. No lead there.**

“Some people would be infuriated by sherlock’s response, but I see his point, actually. Knowing who she was wouldn’t really help her any more than not knowing who she was, and it would only distract him from trying to save her,” Lestrade admitted.

The others, who’d been angered by the detective’s unempathetic response sighed as they realized that, too, understanding the point given by the grey-haired man.

**JOHN (exasperated): For God’s sake, I wasn’t thinking about leads.**

**SHERLOCK: You’re not going to be much use to her.**

**He glances across to the scanner as it continues throwing up “NO MATCH” results, then looks back into the microscope.**

**JOHN: Are-are they trying to trace it, trace the call?**

**SHERLOCK: The bomber’s too smart for that.**

**The same phone as before trills another text alert.**

**SHERLOCK: Pass me my phone.**

**John looks around the room.**

**JOHN: Where is it?**

**SHERLOCK: Jacket.**

“Wow! That’s what I call laziness,” Molly said quietly, with an amused expression.

**John straightens up slowly, his entire body going rigid in disbelief and his eyes broadcasting the message “I am going to kill him.” Turning to his right, he marches stiffly around the table, slams one hand onto Sherlock’s left shoulder and roughly pulls open his jacket with the other as he starts to rummage in his inside pocket.**

**SHERLOCK (angrily, still not looking up): Careful.**

**John just about holds onto his temper and pulls out the phone and looks at it.**

**JOHN: Text from your brother.**

**SHERLOCK: Delete it.**

**JOHN: Delete it?**

**SHERLOCK: Missile plans are out of the country now. Nothing we can do about it.**

**John looks at the message again, which reads:**

*****

**RE: BRUCE-PARTINGTON PLANS**

**Any progress on Andrew**

**West’s death?**

**Mycroft**

*****

**JOHN: Well, Mycroft thinks there is. He’s texted you eight times. Must be important.**

**Sherlock raises his head in exasperation.**

**SHERLOCK: Then why didn’t he cancel his dental appointment?**

**JOHN (sighing tiredly): His what?**

**SHERLOCK: Mycroft never texts if he can talk. Look, Andrew West stole the missile plans, tried to sell them, got his head smashed in for his pains. End of story. The only mystery is this: why is my brother so determined to bore me when somebody else is being so delightfully interesting?**

“ _Delightfully interesting?_ Is that what Holmes thinks that psychopath is being? No wonder they make such a great pair,” Sally said, mostly to herself.

**He looks back into the microscope again.**

**JOHN (switching off the phone): Try and remember there’s a woman here who might die.**

**SHERLOCK: What for?**

**He looks up at John.**

**SHERLOCK: This hospital’s full of people dying, Doctor. Why don’t you go and cry by their bedside and see what good it does them?**

“he does kind of have a point. What’s the point crying over someone if that keeps you from doing something that could actually help them? It’s kind of counterintuitive,” Molly admitted.

**John looks away in disbelief. Unmoved, Sherlock looks back into the microscope but just then the computer beeps a result.**

**SHERLOCK (delighted): Ah!**

**He looks across to the screen which is flashing “SEARCH COMPLETE.” At the same moment, Molly Hooper comes in the door.**

**MOLLY: Any luck?**

**SHERLOCK (triumphantly): Oh, yes!**

**As Molly comes over to look at the screen, a man in his thirties, wearing slacks and a T-shirt, comes in the door and then stops apologetically.**

“And here it is! Sherlock’s very first meeting with Moriarty and he couldn’t pick out the psychopath under that white shirt and those slacks! It was right in front of his nose the whole time!” Sally felt a little triumphant, even though a tiny part of herself – buried in the deep recesses of her mind – was yelling at her that she wouldn’t have been able to tell either, from the boring-looking guy that had just walked in. Then again, he liked to make himself out to be a genius in every sense of the word, so she could tease him for missing that fact. If he was still around to tease, that is…

**JIM: Oh, sorry. I didn’t ...**

**MOLLY: Jim! Hi!**

**Jim makes as if to leave the room, but Molly stops him.**

**MOLLY: Come in! Come in!**

**Sherlock looks over at her briefly, running his eyes down her body and apparently making an instant deduction, then looks back into the microscope. Molly makes introductions as Jim closes the door and walks over to her.**

**MOLLY: Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes.**

**JIM: Ah!**

**John turns towards them, and Molly looks at him blankly.**

**MOLLY (apologetically): And, uh ... sorry.**

**JOHN: John Watson. Hi.**

Molly blushed, just like her on-screen self. “I’m so sorry, John!” she cried, guiltily, even though she now knew the name of Sherlock’s trustworthy and noble sidekick and blogger.

**JIM: Hi.**

**His eyes are locked on Sherlock’s back as he gazes at him admiringly. He speaks in a casual London accent.**

**JIM: So, you’re Sherlock Holmes. Molly’s told me all about you. You on one of your cases?**

“God!” Sally cried, “He needs to stop that!”

“What?” Anderson whispered his question.

“That! Being normal! This is the person who is currently threatening to blow up a woman and half a car-park for the sake of a little game of cat and mouse with Sherlock Holmes! And yet he’s so… so…”

“Regular? Boring?”

“Boring! That’s it!”

**He walks closer to Sherlock, forcing John to step out of his way.**

**MOLLY: Jim works in I.T. upstairs. That’s how we met. Office romance.**

“Oh, you poor dear,” Mrs. Hudson said, reaching out with one hand to gently touch Molly’s shoulder.

**She and Jim giggle. Sherlock glances briefly at Jim before returning to look into the ’scope.**

**SHERLOCK: Gay.**

“I have one question before we continue,” Anderson interrupted. Luckily for him, their mysterious captor heard and just paused the video to allow the man to speak. “Was Moriarty actually gay, or was he just playing that part because he knew what Sherlock would pick up on? And if he was, did he actually have a crush on Sherlock and that’s why he sent all those cases to him, so he could watch him figure them out?”

He was met with a few blank looks and a few knowing smiles, but not much else.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Sally said, “I bet he knows,” she was subtle in her pointing, but it didn’t stop Mycroft from noticing the finger positioned in his direction.

He didn't say anything as the screen reanimated and the scene continued.

**Molly’s smile fades.**

**MOLLY: Sorry, what?**

**Sherlock raises his head as he realizes what he’s just done.**

**SHERLOCK: Nothing. (He smiles round falsely at Jim.) Um, hey.**

**JIM (smiling admiringly at him): Hey.**

**Lowering his hand, he knocks a metal dish off the edge of the table and scrambles to pick it up.**

**JIM (giggling nervously): Sorry! Sorry!**

**John turns away, face-palming, while Sherlock looks irritated. Jim puts the dish back on the table and then scratches his arm as he wanders back towards Molly.**

**JIM: Well, I’d better be off. I’ll see you at The Fox, ’bout six-ish?**

**MOLLY: Yeah!**

**He stops beside her, putting a hand on her back, and looks back towards Sherlock.**

**JIM: ’Bye.**

**MOLLY (softly): ’Bye.**

**JIM (to Sherlock): It was nice to meet you.**

**Sherlock doesn’t respond, continuing to look into his microscope while Jim gazes wistfully at him. John breaks the embarrassing silence.**

**JOHN: You too.**

**Jim blinks at him, looking awkward, then turns and leaves the room. Molly waits until the door closes then turns to Sherlock.**

**MOLLY: What d’you mean, gay? We’re together.**

**SHERLOCK (looking across to her): And domestic bliss must suit you, Molly. You’ve put on three pounds since I last saw you.**

**MOLLY: Two and a half.**

**SHERLOCK: Nuh, three.**

**JOHN: Sherlock ...**

**MOLLY (angrily): He’s not gay. Why d’you have to spoil ...? He’s not.**

**SHERLOCK (snorting): With that level of personal grooming?**

**JOHN: Because he puts a bit of product in his hair? I put product in my hair.**

**SHERLOCK: You wash your hair. There’s a difference. No-no – tinted eyelashes; clear signs of taurine cream around the frown lines; those tired clubber’s eyes. Then there’s his underwear.**

**MOLLY: His underwear?**

**SHERLOCK: Visible above the waistline – very visible; very particular brand.**

**He reaches for the metal dish.**

**SHERLOCK: That, plus the extremely suggestive fact that he just left his number under this dish here ... (he shows her the card that Jim left under the dish) ... and I’d say you’d better break it off now and save yourself the pain.**

**Molly stares at him for a moment, then turns and runs out of the room. Sherlock looks startled by her reaction.**

**JOHN: Charming. Well done.**

**SHERLOCK: Just saving her time. Isn’t that kinder?**

“He thinks _that’s_ kindness? If he’s serious, then that man is ever more messed up than I originally thought, and none of you can disagree with me on that!” Sally declared. _“I can’t believe I ever-”_ she cut off her own thoughts. Now was not the time to be opening _that_ can of worms.

**JOHN: “Kinder”? No, no, Sherlock. That wasn’t kind.**

“And we know that, but Sherlock sure doesn’t,” Lestrade said, slightly annoyed by the detective. Of course, he was well used to Sherlock’s social cues.

Molly, however, was intently focused on the man. His motive was to keep her from being more hurt? At that moment, it was obviously not handled well, but his intentions were pure-hearted and kind, though the undertaking wasn’t so.

**Looking fed up with the conversation, Sherlock puts down Jim’s card and then reaches over and moves one of the trainers on the desk closer to John.**

**SHERLOCK: Go on, then.**

**JOHN: Mmm?**

**SHERLOCK: You know what I do. Off you go.**

**He sits back and folds his arms expectantly. John makes incoherent negative noises and looks at his watch.**

**JOHN: No.**

**SHERLOCK: Go on.**

“Here’s getting ready to insult you, isn’t he?” Anderson asked John, already feeling sorry for the man,

**JOHN: I’m not gonna stand here so you can humiliate me while I try and disseminate ...**

**SHERLOCK (interrupting): An outside eye, a second opinion. It’s very useful to me.**

**JOHN: Yeah, right!**

**SHERLOCK: Really.**

**JOHN: Fine.**

**Clearing his throat, he picks up the shoe and looks at it and its partner lying on the table.**

**JOHN: I dunno – they’re just a pair of shoes. (He immediately corrects himself.) Trainers.**

**SHERLOCK: Good.**

There was nothing but wide eyes in the room. Cries of “What?” and “Impossible!” arose, but John only sighed.

“He’s actually being sarcastic, but I guess just hearing him say those words are incredible enough… He keeps humouring me for a good while, too…” he muttered.

**He looks away and picks up his phone while John continues looking at the trainers.**

**JOHN: Umm ... they’re in good nick. I’d say they were pretty new ... except the sole has been well-worn, so the owner must have had them for a while.**

**Sherlock, who had started to look frustrated when John said they were new, breathes out a silent sigh of relief that his friend isn’t that stupid.**

**JOHN: Uh, they’re very eighties – probably one of those retro designs.**

**SHERLOCK: You’re on sparkling form. What else?**

**JOHN: Well, they’re quite big, so a man’s.**

**SHERLOCK: But ...?**

**JOHN (looking inside both of the trainers and seeing blue smudges at the sides): But there’s traces of a name inside in felt-tip. Adults don’t write their names inside their shoes, so these belonged to a kid.**

**SHERLOCK (looking at him proudly): Excellent. What else?**

**JOHN: Uh ... (he looks again at the shoe he’s holding, then puts it down) ... that’s it.**

**SHERLOCK: That’s it?**

**John nods.**

**JOHN: How did I do?**

**SHERLOCK: Well, John; really well.**

**He pauses momentarily.**

**SHERLOCK: I mean, you missed almost everything of importance, but, um, you know ...**

“Oh, Sherlock,” Molly said in an endearing tone, “Here he goes again, in his own little world, explaining how it all works.”

**He lifts his hand and slowly rotates his wrist to turn his palm upwards, his expression full of sarcasm. With a look of frustration, John picks up the trainer and gives it to him. Sherlock looks at it closely as he goes into deduction mode.**

**SHERLOCK: The owner loved these. Scrubbed them clean, whitened them where they got discoloured. Changed the laces three ... no, four times.**

**John puts his hands on the desk and lowers his head in despair.**

**SHERLOCK: Even so, there are traces of his flaky skin where his fingers have come into contact with them, so he suffered from eczema. Shoes are well-worn, more so on the inside, which means the owner had weak arches. British-made, twenty years old.**

**JOHN (straightening up): Twenty years?**

**SHERLOCK: They’re not retro – they’re original.**

“Did _not_ see that coming,” Anderson breathed out in a low voice.

Sally gave him a light, quick smack on the shoulder, “You don’t see a lot of things coming.”

Anderson opened his mouth, looking like he was going to argue, but after a sharp look from the woman, he wisely shut up and focused his attention back on the screen.

**He shows John an image on his phone.**

**SHERLOCK: Limited edition: two blue stripes, nineteen eighty-nine.**

**JOHN: But there’s still mud on them. They look new.**

**SHERLOCK (looking thoughtfully at the trainer): Someone’s kept them that way. Quite a bit of mud caked on the soles. Analysis shows it’s from Sussex, with London mud overlaying it.**

**JOHN: How do you know?**

**SHERLOCK (nodding towards the computer screen): Pollen. Clear as a map reference to me.**

**Two dots are flashing on a map of Britain, one around the borders of East and West Sussex and the other to the south-east of London.**

“I’m still confused as to how this works. Is this what he sees, or is it just put in there for our benefit?” Anderson asked.

“I wouldn’t put it past Sherlock to have a map like that in his head, or for words to float around him as he looks at things. He’s crazy enough as it is, old sod,” John said good-naturedly, with a bright grin on his face.

**SHERLOCK: South of the river, too. So, the kid who owned these trainers came to London from Sussex twenty years ago and left them behind.**

**JOHN: So, what happened to him?**

**SHERLOCK: Something bad.**

“Obviously,” Sally said, slightly annoyed by John’s obliviousness.

“You’re starting to sound like Sherlock,” John pointed out playfully, only to receive a combined look of horror and hatred flash in the sergeant’s eyes as she glared at him.

**He looks up at John.**

**SHERLOCK: He loved those shoes, remember. He’d never leave them filthy. Wouldn’t leave them go unless he had to. So: a child with big feet gets ...**

**He trails off, staring ahead of himself.**

**SHERLOCK (softly): Oh.**

**John looks across the lab, trying to see what his friend is looking at.**

**JOHN: What?**

**SHERLOCK (softly): Carl Powers.**

Lestrade nodded subtly, remembering the case, though his eyes squinted slightly as he tried to remember the details. It had been quite a few months since this stream of cases set up by the infamous man they knew as Moriarty. He hoped that it wasn’t true that the man was just a hired actor. Everything he knew about Sherlock told him that the man was telling the truth – that he’d been innocent – but that one sliver of doubt had clawed its way into his heart, and by the time he realized just how wrong he was, it was too late. Sherlock would forever be his biggest regret. He felt responsible, of course. They all did. Except maybe Donovan, but then again, she still believed that Moriarty was an innocent man by the name of Richard Brook.

**JOHN: Sorry, who?**

**SHERLOCK (still staring into the distance): Carl Powers, John.**

**JOHN: What is it?**

**SHERLOCK: It’s where I began.**

“What does he mean by that?” Anderson asked. In his mind, he was running through all sorts of scenarios, but none seemed to make sense, even to him,

“I’m sure it’ll be explained, but in short, Sherlock told me that Carl Powers’ murder was his first case,” John replied.

“Wait… Murder? But that boy just had a seizure in the pool, right?”

Everyone in the room sighed. “You _were_ there when Sherlock solved the case, right? The one that Moriarty set up for him? Moriarty was the one who killed him.”

“All those years ago? But he was just a kid, then!”

“I guess that proves that some people are just born evil,” Molly said, sadly. Never before had she believed that to be true. Everyone had a backstory, but for Moriarty, it seemed impossible, no matter the childhood he had, that he could commit murder at such a young age. Maybe that was just how he was made.

She didn’t have any time to dwell on it, however, as the scene continued. It seemed to be going much quicker than ever, now, in this third “episode” as she was going to call it. Their mysterious captor had yet to show himself or herself, but secretly, she hoped it was Sherlock, come out of hiding with some strange secret recordings, showing them everything that he’d done and then dramatically reveal how he faked his death.

She smiled. He did have a certain flair for the dramatics.

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	20. 1x3 Part 3 - The Great Game

As they were slowly making their way through the third “episode” as it were, in the series of videos of their late detective, the guests, trapped in a small dark room, were growing slightly tired of watching. Sure, the content was indeed interesting, but the darkness and impeding stiffness into their joints was taking its toll.

“Do you think we could just have a little break?” John asked, looking up at the ceiling. Despite not having found one yet, he was still looking for a camera – something that indicated that they were being watched. As always, there was nothing.

The screen flickered. _“Alright. I’ll let you out of here for a few hours. Enjoy rainy London, but when I feel the time is right, I’m bringing you back here to watch the rest.”_

The guests, though hesitant, agreed by the terms.

“If I may ask, how would you bring us back here?” Mycroft said, offhandedly.

 _“Same way I did before._ ”

“And what might that be? I remember a bright light, but it remains fuzzy in my recollection-”

“Same here. We saw a bright light and then we wound up here,” Anderson interrupted.

Mycroft sent him a cold look for being cut off but otherwise said nothing to the forensic scientist. Before anyone else could interrupt, there was another flash of light – just like the one that had brought them there in the first place – and suddenly everyone was back, exactly where they were before the whole thing started.

As promised, after a few hours in London – though it seemed like no time had passed, whatsoever, since they’d been kidnapped – the bright light returned for them. Back in the small room, the seven Londoners looked at one another in utter confusion.

“How he or she – or whoever – does that, I’ll have no idea!” Lestrade exclaimed, astonished.

“Yeah! It’s like nothing even happened! No time passed! Our driver was waiting there like we’d never left!” John said,

“You think we were hypnotized?” Anderson asked. His eyebrows furrowed at the possibility, and he began muttering to himself, trying to disprove his own theory. Could it be disproven? There was no way to tell.

“Never mind that now,” Sally interrupted, “We stopped at what seems like an interesting point, and it’s starting, so be quiet and just watch!”

**Later, the boys are in the back of a taxi.**

**SHERLOCK: Nineteen eighty-nine, a young kid – champion swimmer – came up from Brighton for a school sports tournament; drowned in the pool. Tragic accident.**

**He shows John the front page of a newspaper on his phone.**

**SHERLOCK: You wouldn’t remember it. Why should you?**

**JOHN: But you remember.**

**SHERLOCK: Yes.**

“My question is if he likes to just _delete_ things out of that mind of his, _why_ would he remember something like _that_?” Sally exclaimed, gesturing wildly at the television.

“Maybe if you’d shut your mouth for one moment and actually watched this video like a civilized person, you’d realize that they are about to explain it,” Mycroft said cuttingly.

Sally shrunk back in her seat. She was no longer cussing at Sherlock just because of who he was but aggressively criticizing him like any other show she’d watch on the telly. (Kind of like how they’d seen Sherlock yelling at the crap telly earlier in the videos.)

**JOHN: Something fishy about it?**

**SHERLOCK: Nobody thought so – nobody except me. I was only a kid myself. I read about it in the papers.**

**JOHN: Started young, didn’t you?**

**SHERLOCK: The boy, Carl Powers, had some kind of fit in the water, but by the time they got him out it was too late. But there was something wrong; something I couldn’t get out of my head.**

**JOHN: What?**

**SHERLOCK: His shoes.**

**JOHN: What about them?**

**SHERLOCK: They weren’t there. I made a fuss; I tried to get the police interested, but nobody seemed to think it was important. He’d left all the rest of his clothes in his locker, but there was no sign of his shoes ...**

“Anyone else imagining a tiny little Sherlock kicking and screaming at the cops?” Molly asked, a small smile on her face as she imagined him as a child.

“Doesn’t he already do that?” Lestrade asked, joking good-naturedly.

“What did he even look like back then?” Anderson said with a frown.

They all turned to look at Mycroft as if he would answer the spoken question. He just scoffed and remained silent. The waited for a little bit longer, but when it seemed he was insistent on not talking, they returned to watching the screen.

**He leans down and picks up a bag containing the trainers.**

**SHERLOCK: ... until now.**

*****

**SIX HOURS TO GO. As Sherlock sits in the back of the taxi holding the pink phone and lost in thought, the woman who rang him earlier sits in her car crying in despair.**

*****

**221B. Sherlock has shut himself in the kitchen and is sitting at the table with the trainers nearby – still in the bag – while he looks through photographs and printouts of newspaper reports of Carl Powers’ death from 1989. In the living room, on the other side of the closed doors, John is pacing back and forth. He stops and slides open one of the doors.**

**JOHN: Can I help?**

“He would’ve told you to shut up,” Lestrade whispered to him, “If he felt like talking.”

**Sherlock doesn’t react to him at all.**

**JOHN: I want to help. There’s only five hours left.**

**His phone sounds a text alert. He gets the phone from his trouser pocket and looks at the message. It reads:**

*****

**Any developments?**

**Mycroft Holmes**

*****

**JOHN: It’s your brother. He’s texting me now.**

**He frowns.**

**JOHN: How does he know my number?**

“I have my ways, John Watson,” Mycroft said mysteriously.

“Also, you shouldn’t be so confused., You’re in the phone book, mate,” Lestrade whispered to the ex-army soldier.

**SHERLOCK (thoughtfully): Must be a root canal.**

The turned to the man in question. “Was it a root canal? I never found out,” John asked.

Mycroft, as usual, didn’t respond.

**Putting his phone away, John comes into the kitchen.**

**JOHN: Look, he did say ‘national importance.’**

**Sherlock snorts, not looking up from his research.**

**SHERLOCK: How quaint.**

**JOHN: What is?**

**SHERLOCK: You are. Queen and country.**

**JOHN (sternly): You can’t just ignore it.**

**SHERLOCK: I’m not ignoring it. Putting my best man onto it right now.**

**JOHN: Right. Good.**

**He folds his arms and nods in satisfaction, then looks at Sherlock in puzzlement.**

**JOHN: Who’s that?**

“Oh, John,” Mrs. Hudson said sympathetically. “You poor thing.”

*****

**Sometime later John, wearing a jacket and tie, is sitting in a chair opposite a desk in a large, rather intimidating office. He looks anxiously at his watch as if he has been waiting there for some time. The door opens and Mycroft walks in, reading a report.**

**MYCROFT: John. How nice. I was hoping you wouldn’t be long.**

**John politely stands up as Mycroft walks towards the desk, still looking at the report.**

**MYCROFT: How can I help you?**

**He walks straight past John and puts down the report on the desk, imperiously waving a hand in John’s direction to signify that he can sit down again.**

**JOHN: Thank you. (He sits.) Um, well, I was wanting to ... um, your brother sent me to collect more facts about the stolen plans, the missile plans.**

**Mycroft looks over his shoulder and smiles at him.**

“Have I already mentioned that his smile is even creepier than Sherlock’s? Because it is,” Anderson said.

**MYCROFT: Did he?**

**JOHN: Yes.**

**He smiles back a little nervously as Mycroft turns towards him and leans back against the desk.**

**JOHN: He’s investigating now.**

**Mycroft put his hand to the right side of his mouth as if he is in pain.**

**JOHN: He’s, er, investigating away.**

“What kind of lie was that?” Lestrade asked incredulously.

“Um… I never really got much practice lying. Never had to,” John admitted.

**Lowering his hand again, Mycroft smiles as if he doesn’t believe a word of it.**

**JOHN: Um, I just wondered what else you can tell me about the dead man.**

**MYCROFT: Uh, twenty-seven; a clerk at Vauxhall Cross – er, MI6. He was involved in the Bruce-Partington Programme in a minor capacity. Security checks A-OK; no known terrorist affiliations or sympathies ...**

**Cut-away flashback to Andrew West sitting on a living room sofa with a young blonde woman. She snuggles into his shoulder, unaware that he is looking very worried.**

“Like I said, they’re just laying out all the facts for us to just eat up. Like they’re trying to make us feel smart or something when we figure it out!” Sally said, slightly aggravated. Why she’d be upset about feeling smart, no one in the room knew, but it seemed that she did.

**MYCROFT: Last seen by his fiancée at ten-thirty yesterday evening.**

**In the flashback, Westie is now standing at the window looking out into the night.**

**WESTIE: Lucy, love, I’ve gotta go out. I’ve gotta see someone.**

**He hurries out of the room. Lucy calls after him.**

**LUCY: Westie!**

**Brief flashback of Westie’s dead body lying beside the railway track.**

**JOHN: Right. He was found at Battersea, yes? So, he got on the train.**

“Obviously not,” Lestrade said.

**MYCROFT: No.**

“How did you do that?” They all turned to the detective, who shrugged with a sheepish grin on his face. “I guess hanging about with Sherlock rubs off on you, but it’s kind of clear, isn’t it?”

“Not to me, it isn’t. Still not, I’m afraid,” John admitted.

**JOHN: What?**

**MYCROFT: He had an Oyster card ...**

**Grimacing, he raises his hand to his mouth again. John frowns as he begins to realize that Sherlock may have been right about Mycroft having had a root canal filling to one of his teeth.**

**MYCROFT: ... but it hadn’t been used.**

**JOHN: Must have bought a ticket.**

**MYCROFT (lowering his hand): There was no ticket on the body.**

**JOHN: Then ...**

**MYCROFT: Then how did he end up with a bashed-in brain on the tracks at Battersea? That is the question – the one I was rather hoping Sherlock would provide an answer to. How’s he getting on?**

**JOHN: He-he’s fine, yes. Oh, and-and it is going ... very well. It’s, um, you know – he’s completely focussed on it.**

“You really need some lying lessons, John,” Sally said. “Why that freak of a man used to hang about with you I have no idea.” In her nonchalant behaviours, she didn’t even realize her slip-up until Mycroft’s angry face was staring her down.

“I warned you earlier what would happen if you called my _little_ _brother_ that word again, Sergeant. Say farewell to your job once this is all over. End of discussion.”

The look of shock on sally’s face was priceless, and despite the slight unfairness of the situation, the others were only amused, not concerned. She had, in fact, been warned and had brought it upon herself, after all. No sympathies there for the woman still insisting upon insulting a dead man.

**He grins at Mycroft unconvincingly.**

*****

**THREE HOURS TO GO. Darkness has fallen and the woman still sits in the car and sobs.**

*****

**221B. Sherlock has moved to the side table in the kitchen and is looking into his microscope. Mrs. Hudson comes in through the kitchen door with a tray containing a couple of mugs. As she puts them on the kitchen table, Sherlock looks up.**

**SHERLOCK: Poison.**

**MRS. HUDSON: What you going on about?**

**Sherlock slams his hands down on the side table.**

**SHERLOCK: Clostridium botulinum!**

“Were those supposed to be words?” Anderson asked.

“I thought you were a scientist?” Molly asked, looking at him with raised eyebrows.

**Mrs. Hudson cringes and flees the kitchen. Sherlock looks round at John as he comes in from the living room.**

**SHERLOCK: It’s one of the deadliest poisons on the planet!**

**John looks at him blankly.**

**SHERLOCK: Carl Powers!**

**JOHN: Oh, wait, are you saying he was murdered?**

A collective sigh rang throughout the room. “Oh, poor, naïve little John. How innocent and just plain _stupid_ you were back then. At least you’re a bit better now,” Lestrade joked. “A bit.”

**Sherlock stands up and walks over to where he has hung up the laces from the trainers.**

**SHERLOCK: Remember the shoelaces?**

**JOHN: Mmm.**

**SHERLOCK: The boy suffered from eczema. It’d be the easiest thing in the world to introduce the poison into his medication. Two hours later he comes up to London, the poison takes effect, paralyzes the muscles and he drowns.**

**JOHN: What – how-how come the autopsy didn’t pick that up?**

**SHERLOCK: It’s virtually undetectable. Nobody would have been looking for it.**

**He has walked around the table to where his computer notebook is lying. The page is open at the Forum of his own website, The Science of Deduction, and he now begins to type into the message box:**

*****

**FOUND. Pair of trainers belonging to Carl Powers (1978-1989).**

“Interesting how he worked out that the _fan_ reading John’s blog would also check his. I don’t know many people who would find them to be the same on interest levels,” Lestrade said.

Mycroft scoffed. “I guess it’s a good thing you don’t know more people like James Moriarty then, isn’t it Detective Inspector?”

*****

**SHERLOCK (straightening up to point to the laces): But there were still tiny traces of it left inside the trainers from where he put the cream on his feet.**

**He bends down and continues to type:**

*****

**Botulinum toxin still present. Apply 221b Baker St.**

*****

**He sends the message and straightens up.**

**SHERLOCK: That’s why they had to go.**

**JOHN: So how do we let the bomber know ...**

**SHERLOCK: Get his attention ...**

**JOHN: Mm-hm.**

**SHERLOCK (looking at his watch): ... stop the clock.**

**JOHN: The killer kept the shoes all these years.**

**SHERLOCK: Yes. (He looks at John.) Meaning ...**

“It’s kind of cute how Sherlock is helping John along while solving his cases. Like he’s training a new little detective,” Molly cooed.

John blushed bright red at that statement.

**JOHN: He’s our bomber.**

**The pink phone rings on the side table. Sherlock hurries over to it and switches on the speaker. In the car park, the woman sobs in anguish as she reads out the latest message from the pager.**

**WOMAN: Well done, you. Come and get me.**

**SHERLOCK (loudly and clearly): Where are you? Tell us where you are.**

*****

**Sometime later the woman stares anxiously out of the car window as members of a bomb disposal team, dressed in protective padded clothing, make their way towards the car.**

Molly’s mood had instantly dropped upon seeing the woman. “That’s must’ve been awful for her. How did she recover from that?” she asked.

“Therapy,” John stated with his arms crossed. “Lots and lots of therapy.”

*****

**MORNING. NEW SCOTLAND YARD. The boys are in Lestrade’s office, Sherlock standing at the window which looks into the main office, his hands raised in front of his mouth and his fingers tapping together. John is sitting opposite Lestrade at his desk.**

**LESTRADE: She lives in Cornwall. Two men broke in wearing masks, forced her to drive to the car park and decked her out in enough explosives to take down a house.**

**He looks up at Sherlock who is walking towards the desk.**

**LESTRADE: Told her to phone you. She had to read out from this pager.**

**He puts the pager onto the desk in front of John, who picks it up to look at it.**

**SHERLOCK: And if she deviated by one word, the sniper would set her off.**

**JOHN: Or if you hadn’t solved the case.**

**SHERLOCK (walking back to the window and speaking softly, as if to himself): Oh. Elegant.**

**John raises his head and sighs in exasperation.**

**JOHN: “Elegant”?**

**LESTRADE: But what was the point? Why would anyone do this?**

**SHERLOCK: Oh – I can’t be the only person in the world that gets bored.**

“But at least _Sherlock_ never strapped anyone to a bomb just because it suited him!” Molly said accusingly at Sally.

“At least _I_ never dated a psychopath!” she shot back.

Lestrade, in defence of Molly, stood up. “But you wanted to.”

Everything stopped.

“What?” John asked, voicing everyone’s confusion at that moment. He was looking at Sally with furrowed eyebrows.

Lestrade kept his gaze hard on Sally Donovan. “I saw you that first time we brought Sherlock on a case. You were entranced by his _abilities_ , but as soon as he expressed no interest in you whatsoever, you turned cold and started calling him a freak!”

“ _That’s_ the reason?” Molly shrieked in alarm. Her face was flushed red, though not with embarrassment, at it normally was. This time, pure anger brought the blood there. She all but growled at the other woman.

**He flashes back in his mind to shooting holes in the wall a couple of days ago. Just then the pink phone beeps a message alert. John turns round to him as Sherlock activates the phone.**

**VOICE ALERT: You have one new message.**

**As Sherlock walks towards Lestrade’s desk, the phone sounds the Greenwich pips again, but this time there are three short pips and one long one.**

**JOHN: Four pips.**

**SHERLOCK: First test passed, it would seem. Here’s the second.**

**He shows a new photograph to the others. It’s a close-up of a car with its driver’s door open and the number plate clearly visible. John and Lestrade get up to take a closer look, and outside in the main office a phone rings.**

**SHERLOCK: It’s abandoned, wouldn’t you say?**

**LESTRADE: I’ll see if it’s been reported.**

**As he picks up his desk phone, Sergeant Donovan comes to the office holding another phone.**

**DONOVAN: Freak, it’s for you.**

Now knowing the reason behind the woman’s anger at Sherlock, Molly was more infuriated than ever when she heard him being called that name. Though she looked ready to tackle Donovan, she didn’t; Mrs. Hudson was holding her in place with a surprisingly strong grip, mumbling in her ear that “it isn’t worth it”,

**Sherlock walks over to the door and takes the phone from her. John sits down again and Sherlock walks out into the general office and raises the phone to his ear.**

**SHERLOCK: Hello?**

**The frightened voice of a young man comes over the phone.**

**YOUNG MAN: It’s okay that you’ve gone to the police.**

**SHERLOCK: Who is this? Is this you again?**

**YOUNG MAN: But don’t rely on them.**

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Anderson asked.

**In Lestrade’s office, John looks over and sits up taller when he sees the look on Sherlock’s face.**

**YOUNG MAN: Clever you, guessing about Carl Powers.**

**We get a glimpse of the young man standing somewhere in a busy street, reading from a pager.**

“And there he is, the poor sod,” Lestrade said sadly. “Watching this, we know exactly where he is from the beginning, but then he had to wait for hours until Sherlock solved the case to be freed from that madman.”

**YOUNG MAN: I never liked him.**

**Sherlock looks round sharply at this. We see that the man is wearing a zipped-up jacket with wires sticking out from the bottom. The man fights his tears as he continues to read.**

**YOUNG MAN: Carl laughed at me, so I stopped him laughing.**

**John comes out of the office and walks closer to Sherlock, looking at him in concern.**

**SHERLOCK (into phone): And you’ve stolen another voice, I presume.**

**YOUNG MAN: This is about you and me.**

“It’s in moments like these that you can really tell that Moriarty is one, sick *******,” Lestrade said, shaking his head.

**A bus noisily drives past him.**

**SHERLOCK: Who are you?**

**More traffic goes past.**

**SHERLOCK: What’s that noise?**

**The man looks down at the pager, still struggling not to weep.**

“The poor dear,” Mrs. Hudson mumbled.

**YOUNG MAN: The sounds of life, Sherlock.**

**Finally, we get a clear view of where the man is. He is standing on a large traffic island at Piccadilly Circus. Pedestrians are walking past him, taking no notice of a distressed tearful man.**

“I don’t know what’s sadder,” Molly said. “That he has a bomb strapped to his chest and has to stand there reading off of Moriarty’s pager, or that no one is taking notice of him. I mean… it’s a good thing they’re not trying to help and get him killed, but still.”

**YOUNG MAN (reading from the pager): But don’t worry ...**

**He looks down in tearful horror when he sees a red laser point on his jacket.**

**YOUNG MAN: ... I can soon fix that.**

**He cries briefly, then continues to read the pager message.**

**YOUNG MAN: You solved my last puzzle in nine hours. This time you have eight.**

“And here is Moriarty, counting down,” Anderson said, leaning forward. Knowing that it already happened, and they were saved, he could watch it for the enjoyment of watching Sherlock figure out puzzles without having to worry. He’d forgotten about puzzle three, and the others knew it.

**In the office, Lestrade is talking on the phone.**

**LESTRADE: Okay ... Great.**

**Hanging up the phone, he heads towards the door.**

**LESTRADE: We’ve found it.**

**Sherlock’s phone has gone dead. He turns and follows Lestrade.**

*****

**Close to the river, the police have arrived at a large open space where the car was found. Forensics officers in protective clothing are working on the car as Lestrade leads Sherlock towards it. John and Sally Donovan are walking along behind them.**

**LESTRADE (consulting some notes): The car was hired yesterday morning by an Ian Monkford. Banker of some kind; City boy. Paid in cash.**

**Sherlock looks closely as they pass a woman talking with a female police officer.**

**LESTRADE: Told his wife he was going away on a business trip, but he never arrived.**

**As Sherlock and Lestrade reach the passenger door of the car, Sally turns to John.**

**DONOVAN: You’re still hanging round him.**

**JOHN: Yeah, well ...**

**DONOVAN: Opposites attract, I suppose.**

“Seriously? Even Sally thought you two were a thing?” Anderson asked with an immensely humoured laugh.

“Didn’t you ever?” Sally asked in reply.

“Sally was just trying to give herself an excuse as to why Sherlock didn’t like her, and Anderson’s too blind to see how they act to be in on the joke,” Lestrade explained, sending both of his employees – former employees – a glare.

“That’s not tru-!” Both protested, only to be shut up by a glare from Mycroft.

**JOHN: No, we’re not ...**

**DONOVAN: You should get yourself a hobby – stamps, maybe. Model trains. Safer.**

**She goes to stand beside Lestrade while Sherlock leans into the car to look at the large amount of blood smeared over the island between the two front seats. He opens the glove box.**

**LESTRADE: Before you ask, yes, it’s Monkford’s blood. The DNA checks out.**

**Sherlock finds a business card in the glove box and takes it out. Closing the lid, he straightens up.**

**SHERLOCK: No body.**

**DONOVAN: Not yet.**

**SHERLOCK (to Lestrade): Get a sample sent to the lab.**

**Lestrade nods and Sherlock walks away. Lestrade turns to Donovan and looks at her pointedly. She stares back at him indignantly, but he holds the look and she grunts in exasperation and stomps away. Sherlock walks over to the woman who was talking with the police officer.**

**SHERLOCK: Mrs. Monkford?**

**She turns to him tearfully.**

“Oh God, you really let _him_ talk to her?” Sally asked.

John turned to her in confusion. “You were there!”

“She just needs an excuse to talk,” Molly grumbled lowly.

**MRS. MONKFORD: Yes.**

**She looks at him and John, and sighs.**

**MRS. MONKFORD: Sorry, but I’ve already spoken with two policemen.**

**JOHN: No, we’re not from the police; we’re ...**

**Sherlock holds out his hand to her, his voice suddenly tearful and tremulous.**

**SHERLOCK: Sherlock Holmes. Very old friend of your husband’s. We, um ...**

**As she shakes his hand, he looks down as if fighting back his tears.**

**SHERLOCK: ... we grew up together.**

**MRS. MONKFORD: I’m sorry, who? I don’t think he ever mentioned you.**

**SHERLOCK (still tearful): Oh, he must have done. This is ... this is horrible, isn’t it?**

**John looks away, trying somewhat unsuccessfully to keep his face neutral.**

**SHERLOCK: I mean, I just can’t believe it. I only saw him the other day. Same old Ian – not a care in the world.**

**He smiles tearfully at her.**

**MRS. MONKFORD: Sorry, but my husband has been depressed for months. Who are you?**

“How did Sherlock not pick up on that?” Anderson asked. “usually he picks up on stuff like that.”

**By now Sherlock has tears running down his cheeks.**

**SHERLOCK: Really strange that he hired a car. Why would he do that? It’s a bit suspicious, isn’t it?**

**MRS. MONKFORD: No, it isn’t. He forgot to renew the tax on the car, that’s all.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, well, that was Ian! That was Ian all over!**

**MRS. MONKFORD: No, it wasn’t.**

“Again, why does he keep getting things wrong? I may not like him, but this ruins my reputation even more if he keeps getting things wrong!”

Anderson got smacked over the head yet again by Sally. “He’s doing it on purpose, you numbskull!”

**Instantly Sherlock’s fake persona drops, and he looks at her intensely.**

**SHERLOCK: Wasn’t it? Interesting.**

“She must’ve been _so_ confused by that, but first of all, how could she believe his story if she’d never met him and he wouldn’t be allowed on the scene of the crime?” Anderson asked.

“He’s just that good of a liar, I suppose,” John replied.

**He turns and walks away. She glares after him as he heads for the police tape with John following. The female police office goes over to her.**

**MRS MONKFORD: Who was I talking to?**

**JOHN (to Sherlock as they duck under the tape): Why did you lie to her?**

**SHERLOCK (taking off his gloves to wipe the tears from under his eyes): People don’t like telling you things, but they love to contradict you. Past tense, did you notice?**

**JOHN: Sorry, what?**

**SHERLOCK: I referred to her husband in the past tense. She joined in. Bit premature – they’ve only just found the car.**

**JOHN: You think she murdered her husband?**

**SHERLOCK: Definitely not. That’s not a mistake a murderer would make.**

**JOHN: I see. No, I don’t. What am I seeing?**

“John, I feel like you are everyone trying to figure him out, and it’s hilarious!” Molly said, laughing exuberantly alongside Mrs. Hudson.

**As they walk past Donovan, she turns and calls out to John.**

**DONOVAN: Fishing! Try fishing!**

“Why were you still giving him hobbies?” Mrs. Hudson asked in distaste. “If he hasn’t started one already, he surely won’t know that you’re trying to get him to. You’ve been nothing but mean to his friend since you two met.”

**John turns around and gives her an exasperated nod before following Sherlock again.**

**JOHN: Where now?**

**SHERLOCK: Janus Cars.**

**He hands the business card to John.**

**SHERLOCK: Just found this in the glove compartment.**

*****

**SIX HOURS TO GO.**

*****

“They spent three whole hours at that crime scene? What?” How could you spend _three hours_ at a crime scene if that was all you needed, and you were on a time crunch?” Anderson asked, alarmed.

**JANUS CARS. Sherlock and John are in the office of the car hire company. John sits at the other side of the desk to the owner, taking notes while Sherlock looks out into the forecourt.**

**EWERT: Can’t see how I can help you, gentlemen.**

**JOHN: Mr. Monkford hired the car from you yesterday.**

**EWERT: Yeah. Lovely motor. Mazda RX-8. Wouldn’t mind one of them myself!**

**Sherlock walks over to the other side of the desk so that he’s standing beside Ewert, then points into the forecourt.**

**SHERLOCK: Is that one?**

**Ewert turns his head to look and Sherlock immediately looks closely at the side of the man’s neck.**

“Is that a… sunburn?” Molly asked, squinting at the same spot sherlock was squinting at.

**EWERT: No, they’re all Jags. Yeah, I can see you’re not a car man, eh?**

**Sherlock straightens up as Ewert looks and smiles at John.**

**SHERLOCK: But, er, surely you can afford one – a Mazda, I mean?**

**EWERT: Yeah, it’s a fair point. But you know how it is: it’s like working in a sweetshop. Once you start picking at the licorice all sorts, when does it all stop, eh?**

**He starts scratching near the top of his left arm with his right hand. Sherlock looks at him for a moment, then turns away and heads around the room towards the other side of the desk.**

“Don’t you think it’s weird how this footage shows us all the clues we need to solve it just like Sherlock? They’re all there, but we don’t realize it until it’s laid out for us,” John said, shaking his head in astonishment, “I sure didn’t think anything of most of what’s happening, and yet, now, seeing it strung together, it all makes perfect sense how Sherlock solved it.”

“Pretty brilliant, seeing it all from a different perspective?” Lestrade asked.

**JOHN: But you didn’t know Mr. Monkford?**

**EWERT: No, he was just a client. Came in here and hired one of my cars. No idea what happened to him. Poor sod.**

**Sherlock has reached the other side of the desk and stops.**

**SHERLOCK: Nice holiday, Mr. Ewert?**

**EWERT: Eh?**

**SHERLOCK: You’ve been away, haven’t you?**

**EWERT: Oh, the-the ... (He gestures towards his tanned face.) No, it’s, er, sunbeds, I’m afraid, yeah. Too busy to get away. My wife would love it, though – bit of sun.**

“Good excuse, bad delivery,” Mycroft muttered, “Only an idiot would believe that blatant lie.”

**SHERLOCK: Have you got any change for the cigarette machine?**

**EWERT: What?**

**SHERLOCK: Well, I noticed one on the way in and I haven’t got any change.**

**He offers Ewert a banknote.**

**SHERLOCK: I’m gasping.**

“No, he’s not. Isn’t it obvious?” Molly asked.

“Molly, only you could be able to tell if Sherlock lying about needing a cigarette,” John assured her humorously.

**EWERT: Um, well ... (He reaches into his trouser pocket and takes out his wallet.) Hmm.**

**He opens the wallet and looks inside.**

“What are those notes? Surely not pounds,” Sally observed, staring strangely at the wad of bills in the man’s wallet.

**EWERT: No, sorry.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh well. Thank you very much for your time, Mr. Ewert.**

**He turns and heads for the door.**

**SHERLOCK: You’ve been very helpful. Come on, John.**

**They leave the office and walk across the forecourt.**

**JOHN: I-I’ve got change if you still want to, uh ...**

**SHERLOCK (patting his upper left arm): Nicotine patches, remember? I’m doing well.**

**JOHN: So, what was that all about?**

**SHERLOCK: I needed to look inside his wallet.**

**JOHN: Why?**

**SHERLOCK: Mr. Ewert’s a liar.**

*****

“That’s obvious enough, isn’t it?” Sally said, “He even seems like a sleaze, but can you prove it?”

“Of course, he can prove it, who do you think you’re talking about, sergeant?” Mycroft said coldly.

Sally opened her mouth to snap back at him, but wisely shut it with an audible clack of her teeth, nearly biting her tongue in the process.

“How far d’you reckon we’re in, now?” Lestrade asked.

Mycroft was the one to answer. “If I were to wager a guess, we’re about half an hour in, and judging by how long the other two cases’ were, we’re about a third of the way in.”

“Ah,” John replied. “Good. And we’ll end it with the pool, most likely. But, of course, you already knew that seeing as you have cameras on us all the time,” he said, looking pointedly at Mycroft.

“Wait. What pool?” Anderson asked, only to be ignored, as per usual.

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	21. 1x3 Part 4 - The Great Game

“Don’t worry,” John said, “It’s coming up soon. This series of cases has only… what? Three more? They were all pretty quick when you think about it.”

**ST BART’S LAB. Sherlock has a large drop of blood in a shallow glass dish. Putting the dish onto the desk, he reaches into a small bag of equipment, opens a bottle and siphons out some liquid with a small dropper. Bending down to the dish, he squeezes out a drop of liquid onto the blood, which starts to fizz. As Sherlock straightens up, the pink phone rings. The Caller I.D. reads “BLOCKED”. He picks up the phone and answers it.**

**SHERLOCK: Hello?**

**YOUNG MAN (tearfully reading from the pager): The clue’s in the name. Janus Cars.**

“Moriarty’s giving him a clue? Why would he do that?” Molly asked.

**SHERLOCK: Why would you be giving me a clue?**

Molly blushed, having asked the same question as Sherlock just did.

**YOUNG MAN: Why does anyone do anything? Because I’m bored. We were made for each other, Sherlock.**

“There he goes again with the flirting, but he’s still threatening people with bombs. Is he or isn’t he in love with Holmes?” Sally asked.

Lestrade scratched at his chin, deep in thought. “I think he’s in love with the _idea_ of Sherlock, not with Sherlock himself,” he said. “He’s just… confused.”

**SHERLOCK (softly): Then talk to me in your own voice.**

**YOUNG MAN (tearfully): Patience.**

**The line goes dead. Sherlock lowers the phone and looks thoughtfully into the distance for a while. Finally, he looks down at the fizzing liquid in the dish, then picks up the dish and looks at it more closely. He begins to smile.**

*****

**THREE HOURS TO GO.**

*****

**POLICE CAR POUND. Sherlock, John and Lestrade are standing around Monkford’s car.**

**SHERLOCK: How much blood was on that seat, would you say?**

“He’s doing the thing again,” Sally noted.

“What thing?” Anderson asked.

She glanced over at him. “The thing where he asks a question only to completely turn whatever you say around on you.”

Anderson nodded, his eyes growing wide. “Oh! That thing! I hated that thing!”

“Why would you? He never asked _your_ opinion on anything,” she replied.

“Nor did he ask you!”

**LESTRADE: How much? About a pint.**

**SHERLOCK: Not ‘about.’ Exactly a pint. That was their first mistake. The blood’s definitely Ian Monkford’s but it’s been frozen.**

**LESTRADE: Frozen?**

**SHERLOCK: There are clear signs. I think Ian Monkford gave a pint of his blood some time ago and that’s what they spread on the seats.**

**JOHN: Who did?**

**SHERLOCK: Janus Cars. The clue’s in the name.**

“Did he just repeat what Moriarty told him?” Sally asked.

“I think he did,” Anderson piped up.

They looked at each other, then back at the screen.

**JOHN: The god with two faces.**

**SHERLOCK: Exactly.**

**JOHN: Mmm.**

**SHERLOCK (to Lestrade): They provide a very special service. If you’ve got any kind of a problem – money troubles, bad marriage, whatever – Janus Cars will help you disappear. Ian Monkford was up to his eyes in some kind of trouble – financial, at a guess; he’s a banker. Couldn’t see a way out. But if he were to vanish, if the car he hired was found abandoned with his blood all over the driver’s seat ...**

**JOHN: So, where is he?**

**SHERLOCK (closing the car door): Colombia.**

**LESTRADE: Colombia?!**

**SHERLOCK: Mr. Ewert of Janus Cars had a twenty thousand Colombian peso note in his wallet ...**

**Flashback to Ewert opening his wallet and Sherlock seeing the foreign note inside.**

**SHERLOCK: ... Quite a bit of change, too. He told us he hadn’t been abroad recently, but when I asked him about the cars, I could see his tan line clearly.**

**Flashback to Sherlock pointing out the window and Ewert turning his head to look while Sherlock sees that his tan finishes at his neck.**

**SHERLOCK: No-one wears a shirt on a sunbed. That, plus his arm.**

“What was with his arm?” Anderson asked.

“Sherlock said he went to Columbia. He must’ve gotten a booster jab,” Molly said matter-of-factly.

**LESTRADE: His arm?**

**SHERLOCK: Kept scratching it. Obviously irritating him, and bleeding.**

**Flashback to a close-up of Ewert scratching his upper arm, and a drop of blood on his shirt sleeve.**

**SHERLOCK: Why? Because he’d recently had a booster jab. Hep-B, probably. Difficult to tell at that distance. Conclusion: he’d just come back from settling Ian Monkford into his new life in Colombia. Mrs. Monkford cashes in the life insurance and she splits it with Janus Cars.**

“Good job, dear,” Mrs. Hudson whispered to her, seeing as no one else seemed to notice that molly was pretty good at guessing what Sherlock was about to say.

**JOHN: M-Mrs. Monkford?**

**SHERLOCK: Oh yes. She’s in on it too.**

**Lestrade lowers his head with a look of amazement on his face.**

“Even watching this, I still don’t know how he did it! I mean, I see all the clues laid out in front of us, and the way he does it – picking up on them – is just amazing!” Lestrade complimented.

“It’s not too much of a stretch once you see it,” Mycroft said dismissively.

“Well, I just have to say that you and your brother both do extraordinary things.”

Mycroft tried to play it off, but if one looked closely, they’d see that the corner of his mouth turned up into a fraction of a smile, although well hidden by the snobbish look he placed on his face.

**SHERLOCK: Now go and arrest them, Inspector. That’s what you do best.**

**He turns to John.**

**SHERLOCK: We need to let our friendly bomber know that the case is solved.**

**He turns and leads John away. Lestrade watches them, still reeling at all the information that he has just been given. Sherlock clenches his fists triumphantly at his sides as he goes.**

**SHERLOCK: I am on fire!**

“Maybe he shouldn’t be saying that with bomb threats going on…” Molly said quietly.

“Never mind that, has he always acted this way?” Sally said.

“What way?” John asked.

“Like a child! He’s a petulant child at times, but then, like here, he’s practically dancing in celebration. And then there was that time when he jumped in the air like a little boy on Christmas morning!”

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t mention my brother’s behaviour. He, and all those close to him, are well aware of his condition without people like you shoving your noses in where they don’t belong,” Mycroft said cuttingly.

Sally’s mouth immediately snapped shut, but suddenly, her mind was going into overdrive. What condition? What could Sherlock Holmes possibly have to make him the way he was? Or… what combination of things?

*****

**221B. Sitting at the living room table in their coats – presumably because the heating still can’t be turned on nor the fire lit after the ‘gas leak’ (and because the windows are still broken and boarded up) – Sherlock types a new message onto The Science of Deduction:**

*****

**Congratulations to Ian Monkford on his relocation to Colombia.**

*****

**He sends the message. A few seconds later another ‘blocked’ phone call comes in on the pink phone lying on the table beside the computer. Sherlock switches on the speaker.**

**YOUNG MAN (tearfully, over speaker): He says you can come and fetch me. Help. Help me, please.**

**Shortly afterwards, police officers are running towards the young man from all directions. In 221B, Sherlock looks up at John and smiles. And then they dun sex. *shrugs* Well, you never know.**

“That’s two of five done,” Anderson said as if crossing off an imaginary checkbox.

*****

**MORNING. The boys are sitting opposite each other at a table in a café (not Speedy’s). John is tucking into a cooked breakfast and has a mug of tea in front of him while Sherlock is drumming his fingers impatiently on the table waiting for the pink phone – which is lying on the table – to ring.**

**SHERLOCK: Feeling better?**

**JOHN: Mmm. You realize we’ve hardly stopped for breath since this thing started?**

**He eats another forkful of food, then looks thoughtful.**

**JOHN: Has it occurred to you ...?**

**SHERLOCK: Probably.**

“In all honesty, anything that had occurred to you, John, it’s more than likely to have occurred to him as well. Unless it deals with human emotion, that is,” Lestrade said.

**JOHN: No – has it occurred to you that the bomber’s playing a game with you? The envelope; breaking into the other flat; the dead kid’s shoes – it’s all meant for you.**

**SHERLOCK (smiling slightly): Yes, I know.**

**JOHN: Is it him, then? Moriarty?**

**SHERLOCK: Perhaps.**

“Why is he saying that? It’s clear that he knows it’s Moriarty!” Anderson exclaimed.

**The pink phone beeps a message alert. Sherlock switches it on and it sounds two short Greenwich pips followed by the longer tone, and a photograph of a smiling middle-aged woman appears on the screen.**

**SHERLOCK: That could be anybody.**

**JOHN: Well, it could be, yeah. Lucky for you, I’ve been more than a little unemployed.**

**SHERLOCK: How d’you mean?**

**JOHN: Lucky for you, Mrs. Hudson and I watch far too much telly.**

“John, are you alright?” Molly asked.

“How do you mean?” he replied.

“You just said _lucky for you_ twice in two sentences.”

“Oh.” John blushed. He stared at the screen with a blank look as if he couldn’t believe that he’d done it. “I guess I did.”

**He stands up and walks over to the counter. Smiling at the woman behind the counter, he picks up a remote control and switches on the small television hung on the wall. He changes channels a couple of times until he finds what he wants. The woman from the photograph is on the screen, partway through her make-over show. She is gesturing to someone just offscreen.**

**CONNIE: Thank you, Tyra! Doesn’t she look lovely, everybody, now?**

**The pink phone rings.**

**CONNIE: Anyway, speaking of silk purses and sows’ ears ...**

**Sherlock picks up the phone and holds it to his ear.**

Mrs. Hudson stared at the screen in discontent. “I missed that show. Now I’ll never know what she said.”

**SHERLOCK: Hello?**

**An old woman speaks tremulously in a Yorkshire accent.**

**OLD WOMAN: This one ... is a bit ... defective. Sorry.**

**We see a close-up of the woman, who is wearing an earpiece.**

“She’s hearing his voice, isn’t she? That’s the lady that didn’t make it. And the eleven others, too, isn’t that right?” Molly asked.

“I don’t quite remember if there were twelve victims. How about you, Greg? Do you remember? How many… um… died… in that explosion?” John asked.

He was only given a shrug, so they all turned back to the television.

**OLD WOMAN: She’s blind. This is ... a funny one.**

**John walks back to the table. At the old woman’s location, the camera pulls out to show that she too is strapped to a bomb. Wearing a warm dressing gown and sitting up in bed she is holding a phone to the ear which doesn’t have the earpiece in and she is staring blankly ahead of herself as she narrates the words being spoken through the earpiece.**

**OLD WOMAN: I’ll give you ... twelve hours.**

**Sherlock looks at John as he sits down.**

**SHERLOCK (into phone): Why are you doing this?**

**OLD WOMAN: I like ... to watch you ... dance.**

“Okay, no one can disagree that Moriarty was a psychopath, whether he was hired by Holmes or not,” Sally muttered. She still wasn’t quite convinced that Sherlock hadn’t hired Moriarty as an actor, but this experience was definitely trying it’s best to do so.

**As she finishes speaking, she gasps and sobs in terror. Even though she cannot see it, there is still a laser point from a sniper’s rifle running over her body. Sherlock lowers the phone and shakes his head at John, then drops the phone onto the table as he turns to look at the TV.**

“Oh, the poor lady,” Mrs. Hudson said, staring at the screen in horror.

**CONNIE (on the TV): ... and I see you’re back to your bad habits.**

**As the footage continues, a voiceover replaces her voice and a news headline at the bottom of the screen reads: Make-over Queen Connie Prince dead at 48.**

**NEWS READER: ... continuing into the sudden death of the popular TV personality, Connie Prince. Miss Prince, famous for her make-over programmes, was found dead two days ago by her brother in the house they shared in Hampstead ...**

*****

**BART’S MORGUE. Connie Prince’s body has been laid out on a table in the morgue, with a sheet covering her leaving only her head, arms and upper chest bare. Lestrade leads the boys into the room, reading from a file as he goes.**

**LESTRADE: Connie Prince, fifty-four. She had one of those make-over shows on the telly. Did you see it?**

“Why would you even ask that?” John asked.

**SHERLOCK: No.**

**LESTRADE: Very popular. She was going places.**

**SHERLOCK: Not anymore. So: dead two days. According to one of her staff, Raoul de Santos, she cut her hand on a rusty nail in the garden. Nasty wound.**

**He and John look at the deep cut in the webbing between her right thumb and index finger.**

**SHERLOCK: Tetanus bacteria enters the bloodstream – good night Vienna.**

“So, you watched a movie from 1932 but you never once saw Connie Prince on the telly? Even for a moment between channels?” Anderson asked. He knew, of course, that Sherlock wasn’t there to answer, but talking to the television was an odd habit of most people, and he was one of those people.

“How did you understand that reference?” Sally questioned her colleague.

He mumbled something indistinguishable.

“What was that?”

“I may have watched it, too.”

**JOHN: I suppose.**

**SHERLOCK: Something’s wrong with this picture.**

**LESTRADE: Eh?**

**SHERLOCK: Can’t be as simple as it seems, otherwise the bomber wouldn’t be directing us towards it. Something’s wrong.**

“Good catch. I mean, it looks obvious once he says it, because why would Moriarty want Sherlock to solve such an easy case in twelve whole hours, but if I hadn’t known the results of this case beforehand, I definitely wouldn’t have been able to connect those dots. There, I said it,” Sally admitted.

**He narrows his eyes as he looks down at the body, then bends closer to look along Connie’s right arm as he takes his magnifier from his pocket. There are several scratches on her upper arm which look like claw marks. He moves up to her face and notices some tiny pinpricks on her forehead just above her nose. He looks at them through the magnifier.**

“What is he even looking at?” Anderson asked, squinting at the television screen.

“Needle marks from a Botox injection, a couple, actually,” Molly replied. She’d seen all kinds while working in the morgue and had to have a great deal of general knowledge in her brain to catalogue everything about the bodies she worked with.

**SHERLOCK: John?**

**JOHN: Mmm.**

**SHERLOCK: The cut on her hand: it’s deep; would have bled a lot, right?**

**JOHN: Yeah.**

**SHERLOCK: But the wound’s clean – very clean, and fresh.**

**He looks up, his eyes flickering while he thinks it through, then straightens up and clicks the magnifier closed.**

**SHERLOCK: How long would the bacteria have been incubating inside her?**

**JOHN: Eight, ten days.**

**Sherlock quirks a one-sided grin and turns to John, waiting for him to put it all together. It doesn’t take him long.**

**JOHN: The cut was made later.**

“Very good, John! You’ve made quite a bit of progress compared to your first case together,” Mrs. Hudson said. “And I do enjoy watching you boys as you solve your little mysteries together.”

**LESTRADE: After she was dead?**

**SHERLOCK: Must have been. The only question is, how did the tetanus enter the dead woman’s system?**

**John looks along the body thoughtfully.**

**SHERLOCK: You want to help, right?**

**JOHN: Of course.**

**SHERLOCK: Connie Prince’s background – family history, everything. Give me data.**

**JOHN: Right.**

“I bet he loved having someone jump for him every time he said so,” Anderson snarled.

“Just because _you_ wouldn’t do it, Anderson,” Lestrade said.

**He turns and leaves the room. Sherlock looks down at Connie’s body one more time, then turns and heads towards the door.**

**LESTRADE: There’s something else that we haven’t thought of.**

**SHERLOCK (casually): Is there?**

**LESTRADE: Yes. Why is he doing this, the bomber?**

Lestrade sighed. “He knew the answer the whole time and he didn’t tell me,” he said, “Why not?”

“You think he was embarrassed?” Sally asked.

“How so?” Lestrade turned to her, as did a few of the others, in confusion.

“Well, why would anyone admit that the whole reason for a bunch of bomb threats was because a crazed psycho fan of theirs just wanted them to dance around, solving all sorts of mysteries. He probably felt like one of those dancing bears you see at the circus.”

**Sherlock stops, keeping his back to the inspector and looking a little anxious.**

**LESTRADE: If this woman’s death was suspicious, why point it out?**

**SHERLOCK (nonchalantly, over his shoulder): Good Samaritan.**

**He tries to move away but Lestrade persists.**

**LESTRADE: ... who press-gangs suicide bombers?**

**SHERLOCK: Bad Samaritan.**

**LESTRADE: I’m – I’m serious, Sherlock. Listen: I’m cutting you slack here; I’m trusting you – but out there somewhere, some poor b******’s covered in Semtex and is just waiting for you to solve the puzzle. So just tell me: what are we dealing with?**

“Good job, Lestrade, you just called a blind old woman a b******,” Anderson said in a sarcastic voice.

“Well, I didn’t know it was an old woman, now did I? Since Sherlock doesn’t tell me anything! That’s mostly what I’m getting from this.”

**Sherlock looks away thoughtfully, then smiles with delight.**

**SHERLOCK: Something new.**

*****

**EIGHT HOURS TO GO. The old woman sits quietly in her bed while the sniper – who must really love his job, considering that the woman can’t see what he’s doing – continues to keep his rifle’s laser trained on her.**

*****

As they see the old woman on the screen and hear the ticking of the clock in the background, the viewers note an eight come up on the screen. Eight hours left.

**SEVERAL HOURS LATER. 221B. The wall behind the sofa is covered with paperwork: maps, photographs of Connie Prince – both when she was alive, and pictures taken in the morgue – photos of Carl Powers, press cuttings and various sheets of paper with notes scribbled on them. Pieces of string are pinned between some of the exhibits, linking them together. Sherlock is pacing back and forth in front of the sofa while Lestrade stands nearby.**

**SHERLOCK (under his breath): Connection, connection, connection. There must be a connection.**

**He stops and gestures towards various spots on the display on the wall as he speaks.**

**SHERLOCK: Carl Powers, killed twenty years ago. The bomber knew him; admitted that he knew him. The bomber’s iPhone was in stationery from the Czech Republic. First hostage from Cornwall; the second from London; the third from Yorkshire, judging by her accent. What’s he doing – working his way round the world? Showing off?**

“Does he even know how to get around the world? Britain isn’t the entire world,” Sally said.

“It wouldn’t be too much of a stretch, considering he doesn’t know the earth goes around the sun. Or… he didn’t, anyway.” John looked down after speaking, almost regretting saying that out loud.

**The pink phone rings. He takes it from his pocket and sees that the Caller I.D. again reads “NUMBER BLOCKED”. He switches on the speaker, and the old woman begins to narrate what’s being said into her earpiece.**

**OLD WOMAN: You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Joining the ... dots.**

**She sobs.**

**OLD WOMAN: Three hours: boom ... boom.**

“Three hours? He just shaved five hours off your time! Why would he do that?” Sally shrieked.

“He probably wanted to see Sherlock get flustered. Giving him a case is one thing, giving him a time limit really makes him jump. The more pressure he’s in the faster he solves things. That’s how it works and Moriarty already seemed to know this,” John explained.

**She cries in terror, then the phone goes dead. Sherlock looks at Lestrade for a moment, then switches off the phone, puts it back in his pocket and raises his hands to his mouth in the prayer position, concentrating on the wall in front of him.**

*****

**KENNY PRINCE’S HOUSE. In a beautifully and elegantly decorated house, a hairless cat meows as it wanders about on a sofa in the living room. Kenny Prince, a man in his late fifties who is wearing a fancy purple shirt, comes into the room. Behind him the much younger and far dishier ‘houseboy’ Raoul stops at the doorway and gestures to John to go in.**

**KENNY: We’re devastated. Of course, we are.**

**As John walks into the living room, Kenny reaches the other side of the room and turns back, propping his arm on the mantelpiece. Looking a little uncomfortable, John sits down on the sofa beside the cat.**

**RAOUL: Can I get you anything, sir?**

**JOHN: Er, no. No, thanks.**

**Raoul looks across the room to Kenny, who smiles at him. Raoul returns the smile, then turns and leaves the room.**

“That expression makes it so obvious who did it! How could we not know it was him?” Anderson demanded. He saw the expression and immediately registered it as the guilty face of anyone from a mystery movie.

**KENNY: Raoul is my rock. I don’t think I could have managed.**

“Sad, since he’s the one who killed your sister.”

**He looks down sadly.**

**KENNY: We didn’t always see eye to eye, but my sister was very dear to me.**

**The cat has climbed onto John’s lap and meows loudly in protest when he picks it up and puts it down beside him.**

“That’s a cuddly cat, isn’t it?” Lestrade asked, laughing a little. “Why’re you so uncomfortable, John?”

John blushed and stuttered a little, but in the end, gave up trying to give an answer.

**JOHN: And – and to the public, Mr. Prince.**

**KENNY: Oh, she was adored. I’ve seen her take girls who looked like the back end of Routemasters and turn them into princesses.**

“Well, that’s not a very nice thing to say,” Mrs. Hudson said.

**John looks down in frustration as the cat climbs into his lap again.**

**KENNY: Still, it’s a relief in a way to know that she’s beyond this vale of tears.**

**John is nervously holding the cat while it purrs contentedly on his lap.**

**JOHN (awkwardly): Absolutely.**

*****

**221B. Mrs. Hudson has joined Sherlock and Lestrade and is standing between them as they face the paper-covered wall. Sherlock is talking into his own phone.**

“Does anyone find it strange that Mrs. Hudson just walks into the boys’ apartment at random times? Do other landladies do that?”

“No, but Mrs. Hudson is allowed. It’s just a regular thing at this point,” John said in response to Anderson’s question.

**SHERLOCK: Great. ... Thank you. Thanks again.**

“Who is the world is Sherlock talking on the phone with? And why is he _thanking_ whoever it is. They must be doing him a favour, but he’s never been one to say thank you to anyone,” Sally asked.

“How would you know? You hardly ever work with him,” John challenged.

Sally just grumbled, unable to even flounder for an answer.

**He turns and walks towards the fireplace, still talking into the phone. Mrs. Hudson looks sadly at a photo of Connie on the wall.**

**MRS. HUDSON: It was a real shame. I liked her. She taught you how to do your colours.**

**Lestrade – who had turned and was watching Sherlock on the other side of the room – now turns back to Mrs. Hudson.**

**LESTRADE: Colours?**

**MRS. HUDSON: You know ... (she gestures down at her clothes) ... what goes best with what. I should never wear cerise, apparently. Drains me.**

**Sherlock has just finished his conversation and walks back to join the others.**

**LESTRADE: Who was that?**

**SHERLOCK (staring at the wall): Home Office.**

**LESTRADE (surprised): Home Office?**

“Well, his brother _owns_ the government, basically. It’s not much of a stretch that sherlock would have some fingers in that pie, too. And he tends to pick up a lot of favours anyway, what with all the cases he’s solved, both with the police and not.

**SHERLOCK: Well, Home Secretary, actually. Owes me a favour.**

**MRS. HUDSON (looking at a photo on the wall of Connie holding an award which presumably she won for her show): She was a pretty girl, but she messed about with herself too much. They all do these days.**

**She looks over at Lestrade.**

**MRS. HUDSON: People can hardly move their faces. It’s silly, isn’t it?!**

“You should listen to Mrs. Hudson more. She just told you a key piece of the puzzle,” Molly said.

“Which is?” Anderson asked, not having picked it up.

“Connie Prince used Botox, which includes a needle _literally_ being shoved into a body and introducing chemicals into the system."

**She giggles and Lestrade smiles politely. She turns to Sherlock.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Did you ever see her show?**

**SHERLOCK: Not until now.**

**He turns and picks up his computer notebook and opens it. A video starts to play, showing footage of an episode of Connie’s make-over show. She is talking to her brother in the TV studio.**

**CONNIE: You look pasty, love!**

**KENNY: Ah. (He looks at the audience.) Rained every day but one!**

**MRS. HUDSON: That’s the brother. No love lost there if you can believe the papers.**

**SHERLOCK: So I gather. I’ve just been having a very fruitful chat with people who loved this show. Fan sites – indispensable for gossip.**

“Never thought I’d see or hear anything about Sherlock being on a fan site, but I guess he’d have t for cases,” Sally said,

**CONNIE (gesturing to the clothes which her brother is wearing): There’s really only one thing we can do with that ensemble, don’t you think, girls?**

**She stands up and claps her hands rhythmically as she begins to chant.**

**CONNIE: Off! Off! Off! Off!**

Molly grimaced. “No one wants to see that.”

**The audience takes up the chant and the clapping. By the third, “Off!” Connie is rhythmically beating her hands quite hard onto Kenny’s back as he drops his jacket to the floor and starts to unbutton his shirt. He grimaces in pain but then turns a false smile towards the audience.**

*****

**KENNY PRINCE’S HOUSE. Kenny is still standing by the fireplace, looking thoughtfully at a framed photograph of Connie holding her TV award. John is sitting on the sofa looking down at his notebook as he talks.**

**JOHN: It’s more common than people think. The tetanus is in the soil, people cut themselves on rose bushes, garden forks, that sort of thing. If left un...**

**He looks up in surprise when Kenny – who has walked across the room unnoticed – now plonks heavily down onto the sofa beside him and stares at him intensely.**

“That’s a bit weird…” Anderson whispered.

**JOHN: ...treated ...**

**KENNY: I don’t know what I’m going to do now.**

**JOHN (a little nervously): Right.**

**KENNY: I mean, she’s left me this place, which is lovely ...**

**John looks around the living room with his eyes narrowed, apparently not agreeing how ‘lovely’ the place might be.**

**KENNY: ... but it’s not the same without her.**

**JOHN (fidgeting as he tries to move further away from Kenny, but unable to do so): Th-that’s why my paper wanted to get the, um, the full story straight from the horse’s mouth. You sure it’s not too soon?**

“So that’s how you got in, John? By pretending to be from a newspaper? Why wouldn’t you just go in and say that you’re a part of the investigative team with Sherlock Holmes to solve his sister’s murder? Surely, he would’ve also let you in; he seems lonely as it is,” Anderson said.

**KENNY: No.**

**JOHN: Right.**

**KENNY (still staring intensely at him): You fire away.**

“He’s still looking at John and it’s making _me_ uncomfortable. How is that possible?” Anderson shivered.

“Empathetic discomfort?” Molly suggested.

**The cat meows and trots across the carpet. Watching it, John reaches up to rub the side of his nose. As he pulls his hand away again, he suddenly realizes something and quickly raises his hand to his nose once more, pretending to rub it while he quietly sniffs at his fingers and looks towards the cat again. He smiles nervously at Kenny.**

“What did you find, John?” Lestrade asked. He’d never actually learned why John had called Sherlock that day.

“Never mind that. Sherlock debunked me as soon as I said it.”

*****

**221B. Mrs. Hudson has left the room but Sherlock and Lestrade are still standing in front of the wall display. Sherlock’s phone rings and he fishes it out of his jacket pocket, looks quickly at the Caller I.D. and then holds the phone to his ear.**

**SHERLOCK: John.**

**JOHN (over the phone): Hi. Look, get over here quickly. I think I’m onto something. You’ll need to pick up some stuff first. You got a pen?**

**SHERLOCK: I’ll remember.**

“He’ll remember, only if he doesn’t delete it first,” John sighed.

“By my calculations, we watch about ten minutes, then our captor pauses it,” Mycroft said, his eyes focused on the screen as it went black once again. There were no words, but it certainly was like the other times the video was paused so they could discuss it.

“So, what do you think he – or she – wants us to discuss this time?” John asked.

“Well, if I recall correctly, Sherlock already had it all figured out – with the Botox injection and such, I mean. This case was just for him to buy time to figure out the bigger question of who Moriarty really is,” Lestrade said. “Isn’t that right, John?”

“Yeah. I’m pretty sure. We’ll find out soon for sure, anyway, so…”

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	22. 1x3 Part 5 - The Great Game

“So, he was just buying himself time? Smart git,” Sally said begrudgingly.

“I think that was already established, sergeant,” Mycroft said coldly.

She raised both of her hands in defense. “I just meant that he was able to fool this Moriarty character!” she protested. “If he’s as smart as you say he is, then Holmes was crafty to be able to bide his time.”

“Let’s just keep watching,” Molly suggested as the screen turned back on, right on time to break the tension between the two.

**Some time later, Kenny is primping in front of the mirror near the fireplace. Nearby, the entrance door shuts and, on the sofa, John puts down his teacup and starts to get up.**

**JOHN: That’ll be him.**

**KENNY: What?**

**Raoul shows Sherlock into the room. Sherlock has a large bag over his shoulder and is carrying a long narrow case which is presumably designed to hold a photographic tripod. He walks over to Kenny.**

**SHERLOCK: Ah, Mr. Prince, isn’t it?**

**KENNY: Yes.**

**SHERLOCK: Very good to meet you.**

“He’s a good actor when he wants to be, at least,” Lestrade said.

**KENNY: Yes; thank you.**

**They shake hands, Sherlock looking closely at Kenny’s hand as he does so.**

**SHERLOCK: So sorry to hear about ...**

**KENNY: Yes, yes, very kind.**

**JOHN: Shall we, er ...**

**Sherlock walks over to the sofa, puts down the case and starts rummaging in his bag. Kenny turns back to the mirror and fiddles with his hair again.**

**JOHN (quietly): You were right. The bacteria got into her another way.**

“Awe! So cute! You think you know the answer, John, and you’re trying to play with eh big boys!” Sally’s voice was derogatory.

John glared at her.

**SHERLOCK (smirking): Oh yes?**

“What?” she asked, even Holmes is thinking it! You can see it on his face!”

“Like you knew better!” Molly accused in John’s defense.

**JOHN: Yes.**

**KENNY (turning towards them): Right. We all set?**

**JOHN: Um, yes.**

**He looks at Sherlock, who has taken a camera and flashgun from his bag and jerks his head towards Kenny.**

**JOHN: Can you ...?**

**As Kenny leans one arm on the mantelpiece and poses, Sherlock walks closer and starts taking photographs of him.**

“Photographers don’t usually go that close. What is he doing?” Anderson asked.

**KENNY: Not too close. I’m raw from crying.**

**The cat meows at Sherlock’s feet. He looks down.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, who’s this?**

**KENNY: Sekhmet. Named after the Egyptian goddess.**

**SHERLOCK: How nice! Was she Connie’s?**

“That was sarcasm if I ever heard it,” Mrs. Hudson said. “I thought Sherlock was good at his role.”

**KENNY: Yes.**

**John reaches down towards the cat, but Kenny beats him to it, bending down and picking it up.**

**KENNY: Little present from yours truly.**

**Frustrated, John straightens up, then looks at his flatmate.**

**JOHN: Sherlock? Uh, light reading?**

“What’s that supposed to mean, John?” Lestrade asked.

John shrugged. “Um… I can’t remember, really?” He gave a sheepish grin.

**SHERLOCK: Oh, um ...**

**He lifts a second flashgun which he is holding in his other hand and holds it towards Kenny, firing it straight into his face.**

**SHERLOCK: Two point eight.**

**Kenny squinches his eyes shut against the light.**

**KENNY: Bloody hell. What do you think you’re playing at?!**

**John immediately reaches out and rubs his fingers over one of the cat’s front paws. Sherlock keeps firing the flashgun to keep Kenny’s eyes closed.**

**SHERLOCK: Sorry.**

**John lifts his fingers away and sniffs them while Sherlock continues to fire the flashgun.**

**KENNY: You’re like Laurel and bloody Hardy, you two. What’s going on?**

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that!” Mrs. Hudson said in protest to Kenny’s statement. “Not enough meat of their bones to play the part.”

**JOHN: Actually, I think we’ve got what we came for. Excuse us.**

**KENNY: What?**

**JOHN: Sherlock.**

**SHERLOCK: What?**

**JOHN (grabbing the case from the sofa and heading for the door): We’ve got deadlines.**

**Sherlock follows after him.**

**KENNY: But you’ve not taken anything!**

“I wonder if, later, when he was reading all about Sherlock Holmes,” Anderson began, “Did he realise who he was talking to?”

“He was informed afterward, of the incident, actually,” Lestrade said.

“Oh.”

**Ignoring him, the boys hurry out of the living room and let themselves out of the house. John chuckles delightedly as they walk down the drive and head towards the main road.**

**JOHN: Yes! Ooh, yes!**

“John, you look so proud of yourself!” Molly said with a bright grin on her face. The others also had smiles, though a few of them were more condescending than others.

“You’re all making fun of me, but in that moment, I bet any of you would’ve thought the same!” he replied with a glare.

**SHERLOCK (smiling): You think it was the cat. It wasn’t the cat.**

**JOHN: What? No, yes. Yeah, it is. It must be. It’s how they got the tetanus into her system. Its paws stink of disinfectant.**

“And even more, you’re trying to argue your point to Sherlock of all people. You know that he knows you’re wrong. And if you think you’re right, you’re the one with the problem,” Molly continued.

“No one can outwit a Holmes,” Mycroft stated. It wasn’t even an egotistical statement. He said it as if saying the sky was blue or the earth went around the sun – though the second fact wasn’t as obvious to _some people._

**SHERLOCK (still smiling): Lovely idea.**

**JOHN: No, he coated it onto the paws of her cat. It’s a new pet – bound to be a bit jumpy around her. A scratch is almost inevitable. She wouldn’t have ...**

**SHERLOCK (interrupting): I thought of it the minute I saw the scratches on her arm, but it’s too random and too clever for the brother.**

“Isn’t sad that Sherlock cast away that idea just because he thought Kenny wasn’t clever enough for it?” Anderson asked.

John shrugged. “He was usually like that.”

**John chuckles again.**

**JOHN: He murdered his sister for her money.**

“That’s a bit cliché,” Lestrade said. “I’m not saying it doesn’t happen, but… this _definitely_ wasn’t one of those times.”

**SHERLOCK: Did he?**

**JOHN (looking at him): Didn’t he?**

**SHERLOCK: No. It was revenge.**

**JOHN: Revenge? Who wanted revenge?**

**SHERLOCK: Raoul, the houseboy. Kenny Prince was the butt of his sister’s jokes, week in, week out, a virtual bullying campaign. Finally, he had enough; fell out with her badly. It’s all on the website. She threatened to disinherit Kenny. Raoul had grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle, so ...**

**JOHN (stopping and turning to him): No, wait, wait. Wait a second.**

**Sherlock stops as well.**

**JOHN: What about the disinfectant, then, on the cat’s claws?**

**SHERLOCK: Raoul keeps a very clean house. You came through the kitchen door, saw the state of that floor, scrubbed to within an inch of its life. You smell of disinfectant now. No, the cat doesn’t come into it.**

“So, it was just the cat walking along the floor?” Anderson asked. “It picked up the smell from the cleaner?”

“Yes, wasn’t that obvious enough? I wasn’t there, but just looking at the state of it, I could smell the stench.”

**John pulls his jacket up to sniff at it as Sherlock looks towards the main road.**

**SHERLOCK: Raoul’s internet records do, though. Hope we can get a cab from here.**

**(He walks off. John sighs in exasperation and a touch of disappointment that he hadn’t solved the case for once. He glares towards his friend’s back and then follows him.)**

*****

**ONE HOUR TO GO. Still sitting in her bed, the old woman cries in despair.**

*****

**EVENING/NIGHT TIME. NEW SCOTLAND YARD. Sherlock walks into the main office brandishing a folder at Lestrade.**

**SHERLOCK: Raoul de Santos is your killer. Kenny Prince’s houseboy. Second autopsy shows it wasn’t tetanus that poisoned Connie Prince – it was botulinum toxin.**

**He puts the folder on the desk. As Lestrade reaches for it, Sherlock leans closer to him.**

**SHERLOCK: We’ve been here before. Carl Powers? Tut-tut. Our bomber’s repeated himself.**

**Lestrade walks towards his office, Sherlock following. John stares at them in surprise.**

**LESTRADE: So, how’d he do it?**

**SHERLOCK: Botox injection.**

**Flashback to Sherlock examining the tiny pinpricks in Connie’s forehead.**

**LESTRADE (turning back to him): Botox?**

**SHERLOCK: Botox is a diluted form of botulinum. Among other things, Raoul de Santos was employed to give Connie her regular facial injections. My contact at the Home Office gave me the complete records of Raoul’s internet purchases. (He points to the folder.) He’s been bulk ordering Botox for months.**

**Nearby, John has continued to stare at Sherlock, and his expression is becoming angrier.**

“Are you still upset that he shut down your crazy theory?” Anderson asked. He gave a laugh.

“Not all of us are as used to it as you are,” John shot back.

That shut him up.

**SHERLOCK (oblivious to this): Bided his time, then upped the strength to a fatal dose.**

**LESTRADE: You sure about this?**

“How long had you known him for by then?” Molly asked.

“I dunno. Four years?” Lestrade replied.

“And yet you still asked if he was sure?”

Lestrade shrugged. “Never hurts to double check.”

**SHERLOCK: I’m sure.**

**LESTRADE: All right – my office.**

**He turns and walks towards his office. Sherlock starts to follow but John stops him.**

**JOHN: Hey, Sherlock. How long?**

**SHERLOCK: What?**

**JOHN: How long have you known?**

**SHERLOCK: Well, this one was quite simple, actually, and like I said, the bomber repeated himself. That was a mistake.**

**He tries to walk towards Lestrade’s office but again John stops him.**

**JOHN: No, but Sherl... The hostage... the old woman. She’s been there all this time.**

“Is it bad that I can see it from both point of views?” Molly asked. “I mean, it was cruel to let her wait there for a whole twelve hours, wondering if she would live or die, but Sherlock was thinking big picture. He would save her eventually, and if he could use the extra time to make sure no one else got hurt, or had to be in the same position, that’s good, right?”

“That’s perfectly okay, dear,” Mrs. Hudson told her. “It’s just that _some people_ don’t think its worth the risk. They can’t stomach doing what Sherlock does.” She sent a glare at Donovan.

**SHERLOCK (leaning closer and looking at him intensely): I knew I could save her. I also knew that the bomber had given us twelve hours. I solved the case quickly; that gave me time to get on with other things. Don’t you see? We’re one up on him!**

**He heads into Lestrade’s office. John purses his lips in frustration, then follows.**

*****

**Shortly afterwards, Sherlock is sitting at Lestrade’s desk where a laptop has been opened to The Science of Deduction website. John and Lestrade are standing either side of him. Sherlock types into the message box:**

*****

**Raoul de Santos, the house-boy, botox.**

*****

**He sends the message and the pink phone on the desk beside the computer rings almost instantly. He picks it up and holds the phone to his ear.**

“Oh no,” Molly said suddenly, here eyes wide as she stared at Sherlock, who’d just answered the phone.

**SHERLOCK: Hello?**

“What is it, Molly?” Lestrade asked.

She turned to him. “Sherlock didn’t manage to save this one, did he?” There were tears in her eyes.

**OLD WOMAN (in an anguished voice): Help me.**

**SHERLOCK (clearly): Tell us where you are. Address.**

Sally scoffed. “Like he cares. He doesn’t have any _feelings_ ,” she sneered.

Molly didn’t bother to rebut her. She knew that the video would speak for itself.

**OLD WOMAN: He was so ... His voice ...**

**SHERLOCK (urgently): No, no, no, no. Tell me nothing about him. Nothing.**

“Why would he tell her that? That information would be useful,” Anderson said. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

They all glared at him.

“You remember what happened to that old woman, don’t you?” Sally asked, her tone harsh.

**OLD WOMAN: He sounded so ... soft.**

**The laser point from the sniper’s rifle moves onto the bomb. A single shot fires and the phone instantly goes dead.**

**SHERLOCK (into phone): Hello?**

**LESTRADE (seeing his expression): Sherlock?**

**JOHN: What’s happened?**

**Slowly, staring ahead of himself, Sherlock lowers the phone from his ear. He bites his lip as Lestrade – realising that something bad must have happened – straightens up and sighs. John braces a hand on the back of Sherlock’s chair.**

“See? Told you! He doesn’t _have_ feelings! All he could do was sit there and stare!”

Molly scowled. “Exactly! Just because he doesn’t sob at the thought of a dead woman, doesn’t mean he doesn’t _care_! If he cried over everyone’s death, he wouldn’t be much of a detective, would he? He’d never get anything done!”

Sally just glared right back at the pathologist. “I’m not saying that he should! I’m just saying that if he wasn’t such a robot, maybe he’d have actual friends! Maybe he wouldn’t have had reason to _kill himself!_ ”

As soon as she said it, she knew that she’d gone too far. Molly stood up, as did Mycroft. He couldn’t leave the room, as there were no doors nor windows, but it seemed like their kidnapper was watching with attention, because a door suddenly appeared. Molly ran through it, Mycroft close behind – to comfort her, it seemed. Mrs. Hudson was the next one out the door. John and Lestrade were the last, but instead of following, closed in on Sally.

Meanwhile, the door had led to a room with high window. The sun peeked in where a glass balcony overlooked a lush green garden. Molly was currently bent over the railing, sobbing. Her tears watered the plants below, while Mrs. Hudson’s hand rubbed gently, soothing circles on her back. Mycroft stood near the door, awkwardly, as if he didn’t know what to do with himself. He’d given the two women a wide berth to sob together – about ten feet – and looked like he wanted to be even farther, but the size of the room wouldn’t allow it.

He walked to the railing as well, and looked down, hoping to find clues as to how they’d get out. The door intrigued him. How had it just appeared? Had it been there the entire time? Could they just not see it? And how had it revealed itself to them, suddenly. Besides, when they did get out, how would the outside world react. Had they just vanished, and were gone from reality until they were done with these videos? Or, inexplicably, had time stopped to allow for this to happen. He had so many questions, and, for once, had no answers to them. Nothing was logical about their kidnapping, nor did he have any clues as to who or why all of this was going on.

Soon, Molly had stopped sobbing and they’d re-entered the small theatre, taking the tissues offered by a robot arm that unfolded from the wall on their way through the door. Molly blew her nose as they sat back down.

Sally was sitting, as silent as ever, in the far corner, with a haunted look in her eyes. Obviously, John and Lestrade had talked to her. Molly had no clue what they’d said, but hopefully it wasn’t too bad, because she still wanted her turn. Whatever they said, though, Molly knew that she deserved it.

*****

**MORNING. 221B. Sherlock and John are sitting in their armchairs watching the news on the TV. Sherlock has the pink phone on the left arm of his chair. The windows are still broken and boarded up and the traffic is loud outside. On the TV, the picture shows a high-rise block of flats and the headline at the bottom of the screen reads, “12 dead in gas explosion.” The picture moves to a close-up, showing a corner of the building many floors up which has been torn open and exposed to the air.**

**NEWS READER: The explosion, which ripped through several floors, killing twelve people ...**

**JOHN (briefly glancing over his shoulder to Sherlock): Old block of flats.**

**NEWS READER: ... is said to have been caused by a faulty gas main. A spokesman from the utilities company ...**

**JOHN: He certainly gets about.**

**SHERLOCK: Well, obviously I lost that round – although technically I did solve the case.**

“Why is he treating it like a game?” Anderson asked, cautiously tiptoeing the line. He’d watched what happened to Sally and didn’t want anything like _that_ to happen to him.

“Because Moriarty is. If he’s to beat Moriarty, then he has to play the same way he does,” John replied stiffly.

**He picks up the remote control and mutes the volume. Lowering his hand again he looks thoughtfully into the distance.**

**SHERLOCK: He killed the old lady because she started to describe him.**

**He raises a finger on his other hand.**

**SHERLOCK: Just once, he put himself in the firing line.**

**JOHN: What d’you mean?**

**SHERLOCK: Well, usually, he must stay above it all. He organises these things, but no-one ever has direct contact.**

**JOHN: What ... like the Connie Prince murder – he-he arranged that? So, people come to him wanting their crimes fixed up, like booking a holiday?**

**SHERLOCK (softly, his face full of admiration): Novel.**

**John looks at him in disbelief, then turns and looks at the TV screen again, which has moved on to a new story.**

**JOHN: Huh.**

**He jerks a finger towards the screen and Sherlock looks up to see Raoul de Santos being bundled out of Kenny’s house by police officers. The press is there and are shoving each other as they struggle to get close to Raoul and take photographs while interviewers shout questions. The headline on the screen reads: “Connie Prince: man arrested.” Raoul is shoved into the back of a police car. John looks round at Sherlock, who is looking down at the pink phone.**

**SHERLOCK: Taking his time this time.**

**John looks away, clearing his throat uncomfortably. On the TV, the camera is focussing on Kenny who is standing at the window of his house, holding Sekhmet in his arms and watching the chaos outside.**

**JOHN: Anything on the Carl Powers case?**

**SHERLOCK: Nothing. All the living classmates check out spotless. No connection.**

**JOHN: Maybe the killer was older than Carl?**

**SHERLOCK: The thought had occurred.**

**JOHN: So, why’s he doing this, then – playing this game with you? D’you think he wants to be caught?**

**Sherlock presses his fingertips together in front of his mouth and smiles slightly.**

**SHERLOCK: I think he wants to be distracted.**

**John laughs humourlessly, gets out of his chair and heads towards the kitchen.**

**JOHN: I hope you’ll be very happy together.**

“Well, someone sounds jealous,” Mrs., Hudson said. “Don’t worry John, I’m sure that Sherlock won’t leave you for _every_ new psychopath that comes ‘round the corner. You’re too special to him for that.” She patted him reassuringly on the arm.

**SHERLOCK: Sorry, what?**

**John turns back, furious, and leans his hands on the back of his chair.**

**JOHN: There are lives at stake, Sherlock – actual human lives... Just – just so I know, do you care about that at all?**

**SHERLOCK (irritably): Will caring about them help save them?**

**JOHN: Nope.**

**SHERLOCK: Then I’ll continue not to make that mistake.**

**JOHN: And you find that easy, do you?**

**SHERLOCK: Yes, very. Is that news to you?**

**JOHN: No. (He smiles bitterly.) No.**

**They lock eyes for a moment.**

**SHERLOCK: I’ve disappointed you.**

**JOHN (still smiling angrily as he points at him sarcastically): That’s good – that’s a good deduction, yeah.**

**SHERLOCK: Don’t make people into heroes, John. Heroes don’t exist, and if they did, I wouldn’t be one of them.**

“That’s kind of sad,” Anderson said.

Lestrade looked at him. “Why’s that?”

“Because… because he’s doing all these things, and he’s helping people but… he doesn’t _care_ /. He’s doing it because he’s bored. To think, if he turned out like Moriarty…” he shuddered. “I wonder what happened to turn Moriarty like that.”

“I dunno,” John replied. “Some people are just… bad eggs I guess?”

“Come on, John. You know that’s not true,” Lestrade said.

**They stare at each other for a second but then the pink phone sounds a message alert.**

**SHERLOCK: Excellent!**

**He picks up the phone and activates it. The phone sounds one short pip and the long tone, and a photograph appears showing a river bank.**

**SHERLOCK: View of the Thames. South Bank – somewhere between Southwark Bridge and Waterloo.**

“That’s impressive. He knows what part of the river it is just by looking at a picture,” Sally’s voice was quieter than anyone had ever heard, but still carried the same sarcastic ring to it.

**He reaches into his jacket for his own phone.**

**SHERLOCK: You check the papers; I’ll look online ...**

**He looks up and sees that John is standing with his hands braced on the back of his chair and his head lowered.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, you’re angry with me, so you won’t help.**

**John raises his head and shrugs.**

**SHERLOCK: Not much cop, this caring lark.**

**He loudly clicks the ‘k’ on the last word. Sherlock dismisses John from his mind and begins a search on his phone:**

*****

**Search:**

**Thames**

**\+ High Tide**

**\+ Riverside**

*****

**John stares at him for a moment, then straightens up as he perhaps begins to realise that his friend is never going to change. Sherlock continues his online search, totally focussed on his work and oblivious to the emotional trauma which his flatmate is going through. After a while John sniffs, then walks across the room towards the sofa. Sherlock switches to a search for**

*****

**Local News**

**Greenwich**

**Waterloo**

**Battersea**

*****

**He selects Waterloo as John tiredly sits down on the sofa and starts going through the pile of newspapers on the coffee table. Sherlock’s phone shows timed reports from the Waterloo area, giving tide times, police reports and other information.**

**JOHN (reading from a newspaper): Archway suicide.**

**SHERLOCK (snapping irritably): Ten a penny.**

**John throws him a look as Sherlock goes back to the Local News option and selects Battersea. The page shows “No new reports.” He tries “Thames Police Reports” and starts scrolling through the duty log.**

**JOHN: Two kids stabbed in Stoke Newington.**

**He puts that paper aside and looks at another one.**

**JOHN: Ah. Man found on the train line – Andrew West.**

“You’re doing that on purpose,” Molly accused.

“Doing what?”

“Being unhelpful, even when you know the severity of the case not being solved – or if anything goes wrong. You know that he cares, even if he doesn’t admit it. You were just too stubborn to see it.”

“Well, that was a while ago! I know better now!” John replied.

**Sherlock looks exasperated when he finds no helpful information in the reports.**

**SHERLOCK: Nothing!**

**He hits a speed dial and the phone begins to ring out. As soon as it is answered he starts talking.**

**SHERLOCK: It’s me. Have you found anything on the South Bank between Waterloo Bridge and Southwark Bridge?**

*****

**On the south bank of the River Thames, the tide has receded to reveal the body of a large man wearing black trousers, a white shirt, black socks and no shoes.**

*****

**Later, while the police and forensics officers work at the scene, our boys arrive. Sherlock is pulling on a pair of latex gloves. Lestrade is waiting beside the body.**

**LESTRADE: D’you reckon this is connected, then? The bomber?**

**SHERLOCK: Must be. Odd, though ... (he holds up the pink phone) ... he hasn’t been in touch.**

**LESTRADE: But we must assume that some poor bugger’s primed to explode, yeah?**

**SHERLOCK: Yes.**

**He steps back and takes a long look at the man’s body which is now lying on its back on a plastic sheet.**

**LESTRADE: Any ideas?**

**SHERLOCK: Seven ... so far.**

**LESTRADE: Seven?!**

“I’m still a bit confused as to why this is surprising to you after all this time of working with Sherlock. Surely, this isn’t anything new?” Mrs. Hudson said.

“He’s always full of surprises, but even the old stuff is always interesting to watch. He never ceases to amaze.”

**Sherlock walks closer to the body and squats down to examine the man’s face closely with his magnifier. He then looks at the ripped pocket on the shirt before working his way downwards until he reaches the man’s feet. He pulls off one of the socks and examines the sole of the foot with his magnifier. Standing up and closing the magnifier, he looks across to John and jerks his head down towards the body in a mute order to examine it. John looks enquiringly at Lestrade for permission; the inspector holds his hand out in a ‘be my guest’ gesture. John squats down beside the body and reaches out to take hold of the man’s wrist while Sherlock walks a few paces away and gets out his phone.**

**JOHN: He’s dead about twenty-four hours – maybe a bit longer. (He looks up at Lestrade.) Did he drown?**

**Sherlock has called up**

*****

**Interpol**

**Most Wanted**

**Criminal Organisations**

**Regional Activities**

*****

**LESTRADE: Apparently not. Not enough of the Thames in his lungs. Asphyxiated.**

**JOHN: Yes, I’d agree.**

**Sherlock looks up thoughtfully, then selects the latter option and the screen changes to:**

*****

**Czech Republic**

**Gangs**

**Information**

**Most Wanted**

**Contact**

*****

**JOHN: There’s quite a bit of bruising around the nose and mouth. More bruises here and here.**

**Sherlock selects the “Most Wanted” option, then looks up as he mentally flashes back to looking at the small round red marks beside the man’s mouth and near his hairline.**

“I’m confused. Did he not realise it until John said something?” Anderson asked, intrigued as ever by the strange flashes that they could see through Sherlock’s eyes.

“I guess that’s why he said he wanted an assistant. Maybe his brain just works to fast for his eyes that he needs four of them?” Lestrade commented.

**SHERLOCK (thoughtfully): Fingertips.**

**As John stands up, Sherlock shifts to a new search:**

*****

**Missing Persons**

*****

**He scrolls through the options:**

*****

**Last 36 hrs**

**Age**

**Location**

**Local Search**

*****

**JOHN: In his late thirties, I’d say. Not in the best condition.**

**SHERLOCK: He’s been in the river a long while. The water’s destroyed most of the data.**

**He quirks a grin.**

**SHERLOCK: But I’ll tell you one thing: that lost Vermeer painting’s a fake.**

**LESTRADE: What?**

**SHERLOCK: We need to identify the corpse. Find out about his friends and associates ...**

**LESTRADE: Wait-wait-wait-wait-wait. What painting? What are you – what are you on about?**

**SHERLOCK: It’s all over the place. Haven’t you seen the posters? Dutch Old Master, supposed to have been destroyed centuries ago; now it’s turned up. Worth thirty million pounds.**

**LESTRADE: Okay. So, what has that got to do with the stiff?**

**SHERLOCK (grinning briefly): Everything. Have you ever heard of the Golem?**

**LESTRADE: Golem?**

**JOHN: It’s a horror story, isn’t it? What are you saying?**

**SHERLOCK: Jewish folk story. A gigantic man made of clay. It’s also the name of an assassin – real name Oskar Dzundza – one of the deadliest assassins in the world.**

**He points down to the body.**

**SHERLOCK: That is his trademark style.**

**LESTRADE: So, this is a hit?**

**SHERLOCK: Definitely. The Golem squeezes the life out of his victims with his bare hands.**

**LESTRADE: But what has this gotta do with that painting? I don’t see ...**

**SHERLOCK (exasperated): You do see – you just don’t observe.**

“And here are the immortalized words of Sherlock Holmes,” John said with a sigh.

**JOHN: All right, all right, girls, calm down. Sherlock? D’you wanna take us through it?**

“Did you just say what I think you said?” Molly asked, turning to John with a single quirked eyebrow.

“Um…” John was a deer int eh headlights. “Maybe.”

**Taking a moment before he responds, Sherlock eventually steps back and points to the body.**

“You can tell that he really enjoys explaining it,” Molly said with a smile.

“Yes. I may deny it all I want, but you were good for my brother, John Watson. You brought out the best in him,” Mycroft said.

“Um… Thanks.”

**SHERLOCK: What do we know about this corpse? The killer’s not left us with much – just the shirt and the trousers. They’re pretty formal – maybe he was going out for the night, but the trousers are heavy-duty, polyester, nasty, same as the shirt – cheap. They’re both too big for him, so some kind of standard-issue uniform. Dressed for work, then. What kind of work? There’s a hook on his belt for a walkie-talkie.**

**LESTRADE: Tube driver?**

**Sherlock throws him a look which blatantly says ‘idiot.’**

**JOHN: Security guard?**

**SHERLOCK: More likely. That’ll be borne out by his backside.**

**LESTRADE: Backside?!**

**SHERLOCK: Flabby. You’d think that he’d led a sedentary life, yet the soles of his feet and the nascent varicose veins in his legs show otherwise. So, a lot of walking and a lot of sitting around. Security guard’s looking good. And the watch helps, too. The alarm shows he did regular night shifts.**

**Flashback to Sherlock pushing buttons on the man’s wristwatch and it is showing an alarm time of 2:30.**

**LESTRADE: Why regular? Maybe he just set his alarm like that the night before he died.**

**SHERLOCK: No-no-no, the buttons are stiff, hardly touched. He set his alarm like that a long time ago. His routine never varied. But there’s something else. The killer must have been interrupted, otherwise he would have stripped the corpse completely. There was some kind of badge or insignia on the shirt front that he tore off, suggesting the dead man worked somewhere recognisable, some kind of institution.**

**He takes something from his pocket.**

**SHERLOCK: Found this inside his trouser pockets.**

**He is holding a small scrunched-up ball of paper.**

**SHERLOCK: Sodden by the river but still recognisably ...**

**JOHN (peering at the ball of paper): Tickets?**

**SHERLOCK: Ticket stubs. He worked in a museum or gallery. Did a quick check – the Hickman Gallery has reported one of its attendants as missing.**

**He points down to the body.**

**SHERLOCK: Alex Woodbridge. Tonight, they unveil the re-discovered masterpiece. Now why would anyone want to pay the Golem to suffocate a perfectly ordinary gallery attendant? Inference: the dead man knew something about it – something that would stop the owner getting paid thirty million pounds. The picture’s a fake.**

**JOHN (admiringly): Fantastic.**

“Even though you’re angry, you’re still impressed by him,” Anderson said.

“Aren’t you ever impressed?” John shot back, “Even though you never liked him?”

“I liked him, until he revealed my secrets to the world. But, yeah, I guess it was pretty impressive.”

“And what about Donovan?” John asked, a little quieter. “Why does _she_ hate him so much?”

Anderson leaned in and whispered, “I should tell you, but…” He dropped his voice even lower as he spoke the words into John’s ear. By the end, John’s eyes had widened so much they threatened to come out of his head.

He turned his head to meet Anderson’s eyes. “Really?”

A nod.

“I never would’ve guessed,” he said, a little shocked. “Wow.”

**SHERLOCK (shrugging, apparently still peeved about their earlier argument): Meretricious.**

**LESTRADE: And a Happy New Year!**

“What was that about?” Anderson asked, confused.

John sighed. “Because it sounded like Sherlock said _Merry Christmas_ ,” he said.

Anderson’s eyes went wide. “Oh! But what does it mean?”

“Something that looks good but is worthless,” Molly said quickly, before Mycroft could even open his mouth to make another degrading comment.

**John throws him a ‘seriously?!’ look. Lestrade grins sheepishly, then John looks down at the body again.**

**JOHN: Poor sod.**

**LESTRADE: I’d better get my feelers out for this Golem character.**

**SHERLOCK: Pointless. You’ll never find him. But I know a man who can.**

**LESTRADE: Who?**

**SHERLOCK (grinning): Me.**

**He turns and walks away. John sighs, his entire body radiating ‘Oh, here we go again,’ but he dutifully follows his friend.**

“It’s nice – what you two boys have,” Mrs. Hudson said.

“What do you mean?”

“No matter what Sherlock does, you’re always there, by his side,” she replied with a bright smile on her face.

“Of course,” John replied, “He’s my best mate. And _no_ , I’m not dating him, but if he needs me, I’ll always be there – even if he’s a total a*** at times.”

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	23. 1x3 Part 6 - The Great Game

“You gotta admit, though, John,” Lestrade was saying, “To anyone who doesn’t know you both – hell, even _me_ – it looks like the two of you are dating.”

John scowled at the accusation. “You don’t go up to random people in the street and accuse them of dating, do you? Besides, what kind of detective are you if you can’t tell if two people are just _friends_.” It was then that a sudden though occurred to him. “You know Sherlock best, Greg, and you thought that idea of him having friends was ludicrous – all of you did – but then you can suddenly jump to him having a _boyfriend_ on the side? Seriously?”

They all looked down, as if trying to grasp the question he’d just posed. Maybe it had never occurred to them, or maybe they just wanted to believe that the detective was human after all. John didn’t know, though he was leaning toward the former, and so a sigh passed his lips.

“Okay, fine.” He threw up his hands and they came back down to smack solidly on his knees. “Let’s just continue watching this. I’m sure, once you meet Moriarty for real, you’ll see reason.”

**TAXI. As the boys sit in the back of the cab, Sherlock is looking at the pink phone in frustration.**

**SHERLOCK: Why hasn’t he phoned? He’s broken his pattern. Why?**

**A thought strikes him, and he leans forward to the taxi driver.**

**SHERLOCK: Waterloo Bridge.**

**JOHN: Where now? The Gallery?**

**SHERLOCK: In a bit.**

**JOHN: The Hickman’s contemporary art, isn’t it? Why have they got hold of an Old Master?**

**SHERLOCK: Dunno. Dangerous to jump to conclusions. Need data.**

“Strange, considering it always seems like he’s jumping to conclusions on all of his cases.”

**He has taken his notebook from his pocket and now writes something on a page before tearing it out and folding a bank note inside it. He puts the paper into his pocket, then a few seconds later calls out to the driver.**

“What’s he doing?” Lestrade asked.

“You, Lestrade, are about to learn where Sherlock gets all of his street information,” John said vaguely.

Lestrade sent him a confused look, but didn’t comment further and resigned himself to continue watching to find out what would happen.

**SHERLOCK: Stop!**

**The cab pulls over to the side of the road.**

**SHERLOCK: You wait here. I won’t be a moment.**

**He gets out, goes to the railings at the edge of the pavement and easily vaults over them.**

**JOHN (also getting out of the cab): Sherlock ...**

**As Sherlock walks off, John shakes his head in exasperation, then scrambles over the railings and follows him. Sherlock trots up some steps to where a young woman is sitting on a bench under Waterloo Bridge. She has a large bag beside her with a handwritten cardboard sign poking out of the top. The first two words on the sign say, “HUNGRY AND”. Presumably the next word, obscured by some of her possessions, is ‘HOMELESS.’**

**HOMELESS GIRL: Change? Any change?**

**SHERLOCK: What for?**

**HOMELESS GIRL: Cup of tea, of course.**

“Oh! You know that’s not true!” Sally yelled at the screen. She had a few choice words she wanted to say but refrained from doing so as to keep the hardened gazes off of her.

**SHERLOCK (handing her the piece of paper from his pocket): Here you go – fifty.**

**HOMELESS GIRL (smiling): Thanks.**

**He immediately turns and walks away again. John looks at him in bewilderment before turning and following, pointing back towards the girl.**

**JOHN: What are you doing?**

**SHERLOCK: Investing.**

“How can he trust them to keep their word? It seems like anyone would just take the fifty and not bother with the note,” Sally said.

“Do you think he says a code to them? Why else would the girl say she wanted a cup of tea?” Anderson said, staring intensely at the screen as if it would reveal all the answers to him.

**John looks back to where the girl is unfolding the note and reading it. Sherlock goes to the railings and easily leaps over them again. He opens the rear door of the cab.**

**SHERLOCK: Now we go to the Gallery.**

**He stops and looks back at John.**

**SHERLOCK: Have you got any cash?**

“He just gave a homeless girl a fifty and then asks you for cash? How do you deal with that?” Sally asked. She was getting thoroughly annoyed, and while she wasn’t personally targeting Sherlock anymore – and all of her questions were valid – it was still aggravating to hear.

**John – just offscreen – presumably nods because Sherlock gets into the cab and John follows.**

*****

**HICKMAN GALLERY. The taxi pulls up and Sherlock steps out. John is about to follow but Sherlock stops him.**

**SHERLOCK: No. I need you to find out all you can about the gallery attendant. Lestrade will give you the address.**

**JOHN: Okay.**

**He closes the cab door and gives a new instruction to the driver. Sherlock walks away towards the gallery.**

*****

**ALEX WOODBRIDGE’S HOME. A woman leads John into Alex’s tiny attic bedroom. It’s messy with clothes scattered everywhere. The window in the canted ceiling looks up into the sky and standing below it is a large object covered with a sheet.**

**JULIE: We’d been sharing about a year. Just sharing.**

**JOHN: Mmm.**

**Julie stops and gestures around the room. John walks in and looks around, not touching anything. He looks at the sheet-covered object and points to it.**

**JOHN: May I?**

**JULIE: Yeah.**

**John tries to lift just the top of the sheet, but it slips from his fingers and falls to the floor.**

**JOHN: Sorry.**

**He looks at the telescope on a tripod which has been revealed.**

**JOHN: Stargazer, was he?**

“That’s a hint,” Anderson announced. “That’s gotta be a hint!”

**JULIE: God, yeah. Mad about it. It’s all he ever did in his spare time.**

**She looks away sadly.**

**JULIE: He was a nice guy, Alex. I liked him.**

**She looks around the room.**

**JULIE: He was, er, never much of a one for hoovering.**

“I can tell,” Sally said sarcastically to the woman on the screen.

**She laughs nervously. John smiles at her, then pulls a face as she looks away.**

**JOHN: What about art? Did he know anything about that?**

**JULIE (shaking her head): It was just a job, you know?**

**JOHN: Hmm.**

**He bends down and peers at the items on the bedside table.**

**JOHN: Has anyone else been round asking about Alex?**

**JULIE: No. We had a break-in, though.**

**JOHN (straightening up): Hmm? When?**

**JULIE: Last night. There was nothing taken. Oh – there was a message left for Alex on the landline.**

**JOHN: Who was it from?**

**JULIE: Well, I can play it for you if you like. I’ll get the phone.**

**JOHN: Please.**

**She goes out of the room briefly and comes back with the phone and plays the message.**

**WOMAN’s VOICE: Oh, should I speak now? Alex? Love, it’s Professor Cairns. Listen, you were right. You were bloody right! Give us a call when ...**

**The message ends.**

**JOHN: Professor Cairns?**

**JULIE: No, no idea, sorry.**

**JOHN: Mm. Can I try and ring back?**

**JULIE: Well, no good. I mean, I’ve had other calls since – sympathy ones, you know.**

**He nods and Julie leaves the room again just as John’s phone trills a text alert. He gets out the phone and looks at the message which reads:**

*****

**RE: BRUCE-PARTINGTON PLANS**

**Have you spoken to West’s**

**fiancée yet?**

**Mycroft Holmes**

*****

**John grimaces and puts away the phone.**

*****

**HICKMAN GALLERY. An elegantly dressed woman walks into the large white-painted room which is displaying the Vermeer painting. There is no other artwork or furniture of any kind in the room, but two rows of free-standing posts are roped together to form a path to the picture. The woman stops at the sight of a security man in a black jacket and black cap standing in front of the painting with his back to her.**

**MISS WENCESLAS (in an Eastern European accent): Don’t you have something to do?**

**SHERLOCK (for it is he): Just admiring the view.**

**MISS WENCESLAS: Yes. Lovely. Now get back to work. We open tonight.**

**Sherlock looks over his shoulder and then turns and walks towards her.**

**SHERLOCK: Doesn’t it bother you?**

**MISS WENCESLAS: What?**

**SHERLOCK: That the painting’s a fake.**

**MISS WENCESLAS (angrily): What?**

**SHERLOCK: It’s a fake. It has to be. It’s the only possible explanation.**

**Getting closer to her, he looks at her I.D. badge.**

**SHERLOCK: You’re in charge, aren’t you, Miss Wencleslas?**

“Wait. Was that a lisp?” Anderson asked.

“What? What do you mean?” John turned to him.

“Just now. He said _Miss WenCLESlas_ instead of _WenCESlas_. Didn’t you hear it? It was a lisp!” Anderson was grinning ear to ear, quite proud for having noticed something about the detective. “All those years and I never noticed he had a lisp.”

“Well, you never bloody talked to him long enough to notice, have you?” Lestrade snapped at him. “Besides, that little bit of trivia won’t help you any, now.”

**MISS WENCESLAS: Who are you?**

**SHERLOCK (getting into her face and staring into her eyes): Alex Woodbridge knew that the painting was a fake, so somebody sent the Golem to take care of him. Was it you?**

**MISS WENCESLAS: Golem? What the hell are you talking about?**

**SHERLOCK: Or are you working for someone else? Did you fake it for them?**

**MISS WENCESLAS: It’s not a fake.**

**SHERLOCK: It is a fake. Don’t know why, but there’s something wrong with it. There has to be.**

“I don’t know if you others noticed this but… do you realize that the only reason _he_ knows it’s a fake is because the bomber sent him to it?” Anderson inquired, looking around at them all.

**MISS WENCESLAS: What the hell are you on about? You know, I could have you sacked on the spot.**

**SHERLOCK: Not a problem.**

**MISS WENCESLAS: No?**

**SHERLOCK: No. I don’t work here, you see. Just popped in to give you a bit of friendly advice.**

**MISS WENCESLAS: How did you get in?**

**SHERLOCK (scornfully): Please.**

**MISS WENCESLAS: I want to know.**

**SHERLOCK: The art of disguise is knowing how to hide in plain sight.**

Anderson scowled. “That doesn’t answer the question,” he said. “I _still_ want to know how he got in.”

**He turns and begins to walk away, taking off his cap.**

**MISS WENCESLAS: Who are you?**

**SHERLOCK: Sherlock Holmes.**

**He drops the cap onto the top of one of the railing posts and continues onwards.**

**MISS WENCESLAS: Am I supposed to be impressed?**

**SHERLOCK: You should be.**

**Taking off the jacket, he looks at her as he deliberately drops it on the floor. Reaching the doors, he flamboyantly shoves one open, almost dancing out of the room.**

John scoffed and laughed. “Drama queen,” he mutters under his breath.

**SHERLOCK: Have a nice day!**

**Miss Wenceslas walks closer to the painting and looks at it as the door slowly and squeakily swings closed.**

“She didn’t know it was a fake! Right?” Anderson pointed out. “Why else would she be looking at it so closely?”

“Or,” Lestrade said, “She knew it was a fake but not why, and was trying to see if she could tell or not because she wanted to cover her own tail.”

*****

**WESTIE’S FLAT. John is sitting on the sofa beside Andrew West’s fiancée. He has been there long enough for her to have made them mugs of something which are on the coffee table in front of them. Lucy is upset throughout the ensuing conversation.**

**LUCY: He wouldn’t. He just wouldn’t.**

**JOHN (gently): Well, stranger things have happened.**

“Oh dear! John! How could you say such a thing to that poor girl!” Mrs. Hudson accused, smacking him lightly on the arm.

“Umm… Sorry?”

**LUCY: Westie wasn’t a traitor. It’s a horrible thing to say!**

**JOHN: I’m sorry, but you must understand that’s ...**

**LUCY: That’s what they think, isn’t it, his bosses?**

**JOHN (nodding): He was a young man, about to get married. He had debts ...**

**LUCY: Everyone’s got debts; and Westie wouldn’t wanna clear them by selling out his country.**

**JOHN: Can you, um, can you tell me exactly what happened that night?**

**LUCY: We were having a night in, just watching a DVD.**

**She smiles at the memory.**

**LUCY: He normally falls asleep, you know, but he sat through this one. He was quiet.**

**She becomes tearful.**

**LUCY: Out of the blue, he said he just had to go and see someone.**

**JOHN: And you’ve no idea who?**

**Shaking her head, Lucy begins to cry.**

*****

**Later, she opens the front door and shows John out. A cycle courier walks along the pavement towards the house, wheeling his pushbike.**

**JOE: Oh, hi, Luce. You okay, love?**

**LUCY: Yeah.**

**JOE: Who’s this?**

**JOHN: John Watson. Hi.**

**LUCY (to John): This is my brother, Joe. (She turns to her brother.) John’s trying to find out what happened to Westie, Joe.**

**JOE (looking John up and down): You with the police?**

Anderson’s eyes lit up. “It was him!” he exclaimed. “It must be! Why else would he ask that question? It’s usually only the guilty ones that ask.”

**JOHN: Uh, sort of, yeah.**

**JOE: Well, tell ’em to get off their arses, will you? It’s bloody ridiculous.**

Anderson then deflated, much to the amusement of the others. “I guess it wasn’t him…”

John let out a snort of laughter. Hadn’t they all known? Anderson _did_ remember when they actually solved the case, right?

**JOHN: I’ll do my best.**

**Nodding, Joe turns and puts a comforting hand on his sister’s shoulder for a moment before wheeling his bike inside the house. John clears his throat and steps closer to Lucy.**

**JOHN: Well, er, thanks very much for your help; and again, I’m very, very sorry.**

**He turns to leave but Lucy calls after him.**

**LUCY: He didn’t steal those things, Mr. Watson.**

**John turns back to her.**

**LUCY: I knew Westie. He was a good man. (She starts to cry.) He was my good man.**

**She turns and goes back indoors. John walks away.**

“That poor dear…” Mrs. Hudson dabbed at her eyes, wiping away a few tears.

“Does anyone else think that she sounds like Molly? Like… her voice… just a little bit?” Anderson asked.

Everyone just stared at him incredulously.

*****

**NIGHT TIME. John is in the back of a taxi heading along Baker Street. Further along the road, the homeless girl is standing by the railings at the other side of Speedy’s, shaking a paper cup at people as they pass by.**

**HOMELESS GIRL: Spare change? Any spare change?**

“Isn’t that that same girl?” Sally observed.

**Sherlock comes out of 221 and stops, looking down the road towards her. The taxi pulls up and John gets out. Sherlock walks over to him.**

**JOHN: Alex Woodbridge didn’t know anything special about art.**

**SHERLOCK: And?**

**JOHN: And ...**

**Sherlock looks towards the girl again and starts to walk towards her while still talking to John.**

**SHERLOCK: Is that it? No habits, hobbies, personality?**

“Sherlock,” Mrs. Hudson chided with a fond smile. “If you don’t give the chance to talk, you won’t hear anything at all.”

**JOHN: No, give us a chance! He was an amateur astronomer.**

**Sherlock stops dead, turns and points towards the taxi.**

**SHERLOCK: Hold that cab.**

**John trots back to the taxi while Sherlock goes over to the girl.**

**HOMELESS GIRL: Spare change, sir?**

**SHERLOCK: Don’t mind if I do.**

“That’s not what you usually say to a homeless person,” Lestrade said, though he more so seemed peeved that he’d never guessed that Sherlock had a homeless network and didn’t tell him where he got his information from.

**JOHN (to the cab driver): Can you wait here?**

**The girl hands Sherlock a piece of paper. Unfolding it, he sees that she has written “VAUXHALL ARCHES” on it. Smiling briefly, he turns and walks back to John.**

**SHERLOCK: Fortunately, I haven’t been idle.**

Sally let out a cry of outrage. “He did _nothing_ to get that information besides ask for it! What _had_ he been doing that whole time?” she demanded.

**He opens the cab door and gets in.**

**SHERLOCK: Come on.**

**John climbs in and the taxi heads off.**

*****

**VAUXHALL. The boys have gotten out of the cab and are walking along, Sherlock buttoning his coat as he gazes up at the sky.**

**SHERLOCK: Beautiful, isn’t it?**

**John looks up.**

**JOHN: I thought you didn’t care about things like that.**

**SHERLOCK: Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate it.**

Molly smiled at that statement, because that meant there must also be other things that he appreciated looking at and though beautiful, even though he didn’t care about the reasoning behind it. However, she kept her inner thoughts to herself.

**They walk into the Arches.**

**JOHN: Listen: Alex Woodbridge had a message on the answerphone at his flat – a Professor Cairns?**

**SHERLOCK: This way.**

**JOHN: Nice! Nice part of town. Er, any time you wanna explain.**

“Nice!” Sally said overdramatically, then paused. “Nice use of sarcasm.” She said in the same way that John did, on screen, causing the man in question to blush scarlet.

**SHERLOCK: Homeless network – really is indispensable.**

**JOHN (getting a small flashlight from his pocket and switching it on): Homeless network?**

**SHERLOCK: My eyes and ears all over the city.**

**JOHN: Oh, that’s clever. So, you scratch their backs and ...**

**SHERLOCK: Yes, then I disinfect myself.**

Anderson burst out into incontrollable laughter. “Oh my God! That’s hilarious!”

A few of the others chuckled a little as well, but not nearly as much, nor as long, as Anderson.

**He has also brought a torch and shines it around as they continue into the darkness of the Arches. Their beams pick out homeless people all around the place, most of them settling down for the night. Suddenly, in the distance, the shadow of a man shows on a wall as he begins to stand up. The man is incredibly tall.**

**JOHN: Sherlock!**

**SHERLOCK: Come on!**

**They duck to the side of a wall while the man continues straightening up for ages until he is over seven feet tall.**

**JOHN (in a whisper): What’s he doing sleeping rough?**

**SHERLOCK (peering around the corner): Well, he has a very distinctive look. He has to hide somewhere where tongues won’t wag – much.**

“Sherlock said earlier that the police wouldn’t be able to find the golem,” Sally said distastefully.

“He did,” Lestrade agreed. “Right to my face. What’s your point?”

“That _homeless_ girl just found him!”

Lestrade just bit his lip in silence.

**John looks down as he realises that he has come out without something essential.**

**JOHN: Oh shi...**

**SHERLOCK (taking John’s pistol from his coat pocket): What?**

**JOHN: I wish I’d ...**

**SHERLOCK (handing him the gun): Don’t mention it.**

**The man breaks into a run and hurries away down another tunnel. The boys chase across towards where he was and reach the tunnel just in time to see him climbing into a waiting car which immediately speeds off. Sherlock punches the air in frustration.**

**SHERLOCK: No, no, no, no! It’ll take us weeks to find him again.**

**JOHN: Or not. I have an idea where he might be going.**

**SHERLOCK: What?**

**JOHN: I told you: someone left Alex Woodbridge a message. There can’t be that many Professor Cairns in the book. Come on.**

“And, hurray for John!” Lestrade cheered, a little flatly.

*****

**PLANETARIUM. Professor Cairns is alone in the planetarium’s theatre. As Gustav Holst’s “Mars” plays over the sound system, she is standing at the mixing desk in front of a huge screen and watching footage of a film which is played to visitors. Other than the light coming from the screen, the room is in darkness.**

**NARRATOR (over the footage): Jupiter, the fifth planet in our solar system and the largest. Jupiter is a gas giant. Planet Earth would fit into it eleven times.**

“Hmm,” Anderson mumbled, showing his intrigue.

**CAIRNS (bored): Yes, we know that.**

**She stops the recording and fast-forwards it for a moment because starting the playback again.**

**NARRATOR: Titan is the largest moon.**

**CAIRNS (fast-forwarding again): Come on, Neptune, where’re you hiding?**

**Behind her, a hand pushes open the door to the theatre. A moment later, just as Cairns starts the playback again, the door bangs shut. She looks round.**

**NARRATOR: Many are actually long dead ...**

**Cairns peers up to the projection room.**

**CAIRNS: Tom? Is that you?**

Sally sighed. “If you’re involved in a thirty-million-pound conspiracy, _don’t_ just assume that it’s Tom!”

**NARRATOR: ... exploded into supernovas.**

**She turns back to the desk. Behind her a long arm reaches out towards her.**

**NARRATOR: ... discovered by Urbain Le Verrier in 1846.**

**A tall figure steps up behind Cairns and clamps one hand over her mouth and nose, pulling her backwards.**

“Oh no!” Mrs. Hudson cried out in alarm.

**CAIRNS (muffled): Oh my God!**

**She claws at the hand, crying out in muffled panic, and her other hand flails out and drags several of the sliders down the mixing desk. The footage begins to jump randomly as Cairns’ attacker continues to suffocate her.**

**NARRATOR: ... composed mainly of hydrogen. Their light takes so long to reach us ...**

**Sherlock and John race into the theatre through another door. As John stops and aims his pistol towards the attacker, Sherlock yells at the top of his voice.**

**SHERLOCK: Golem!**

**NARRATOR ... many are actually long-dead, exploded into supernovas.**

**The Golem looks up, grunts in surprise, then snaps Cairns’ neck and drops her to the floor. Her fingers drag along the mixing desk and the footage goes into fast-forward again, plunging the theatre into darkness. The Golem ducks down out of sight.**

A few of the watchers let out alarmed exclamations, though they already knew how it would end for her.

**SHERLOCK: John!**

**JOHN: I can’t see him. I’ll go round. I’ll go!**

**As the footage continues spooling and then stopping and playing before spooling again, light comes and goes in the room. Sherlock stares around as John hurries off.**

**SHERLOCK (loudly): Who are you working for this time, Dzundza?**

“Who would Sherlock care enough o learn his real name?” Anderson asked.

“Manipulation purposes,” Sally replied offhandedly.

**Behind him, the Golem steps out of the fluctuating darkness and clamps one hand around Sherlock’s mouth and nose while gripping his neck with the other. Sherlock grabs at the hand on his face, struggling to pull it free as he is slowly suffocated. John races over and stops in front of them, his pistol held in both hands.**

“Sherlock!” Molly said with a horrified gasp.

**JOHN: Golem!**

**He cocks the gun and points it at the Golem’s face, his hands and voice steady.**

**JOHN: Let him go, or I will kill you.**

**Sherlock, whimpering in his efforts, continues trying to pull the man’s hand from his face. The Golem swings him around to the left and lashes out with his long right leg during a moment of darkness, kicking the pistol from John’s hands. Dropping Sherlock to the ground, he surges forward and wrestles with John. As Sherlock gets to his feet, the Golem shoves John into him, sending both of the boys tumbling to the floor.**

A sigh of relief flooded the room. Even Sally, who still very much hated the detective, relaxed a little when he was freed from the giant’s grasp.

**Sherlock scrambles up again and takes up a boxing stance in front of him, holding up his clenched fists.**

**NARRATOR: … the fourth planet of the solar system, named after the Roman god, Mars.**

**He swings a punch at the man but Dzundza grabs his hand and swings his other arm down heavily onto Sherlock’s shoulder, dropping him to the floor yet again. The Golem follows him down and clamps both hands over his face, leaning his weight onto them. Behind him, John throws himself onto his back. The Golem roars, releasing Sherlock as he claws at the hobbit on his back. He stands up with John still clinging to his back and spins around several times before finally managing to shake him off onto the floor. As John groggily tries to get up, the Golem turns, picks up Sherlock and skims him across the floor towards John. Sliding across the floor, Sherlock grabs at the pistol and manages to pick it up. The Golem runs for the doors. Sherlock rolls over onto his back and fires twice towards him but the Golem makes it to the doors and disappears through them.**

**NARRATOR: ... long dead, exploded into supernovas.**

“Had anyone else noticed that we’ve heard this very same line three times, now?” Anderson questioned.

**As the image of a supernova dramatically explodes on the screen behind him, Sherlock angrily slams his hand down on the floor in front of him.**

*****

**MORNING. HICKMAN GALLERY. Sherlock is standing in front of the Vermeer painting, looking up information on his phone. He calls up subjects such as “Vermeer brush strokes,” “Pigment analysis,” “Canvas degradation,” “UV Light damage,” “Delft Skyline, 1600,” and “Vermeer influences.” John, Lestrade and Miss Wenceslas are standing behind him.**

**SHERLOCK: It’s a fake. It has to be.**

**MISS WENCESLAS: That painting has been subjected to every test known to science.**

**SHERLOCK: It’s a very good fake, then.**

**He spins around and glares at her.**

**SHERLOCK: You know about this, don’t you? This is you, isn’t it?**

**Miss Wenceslas turns to Lestrade, looking exasperated.**

**MISS WENCESLAS: Inspector, my time is being wasted. Would you mind showing yourself and your friends out?**

**The pink phone rings. Sherlock snatches it from his pocket and switches on the speaker.**

**SHERLOCK: The painting is a fake.**

“For whoever is on the other side, that’s must’ve been a weird experience.”

**There’s a faint sound of breathing over the speaker but otherwise there is no response.**

**SHERLOCK: It’s a fake. That’s why Woodbridge and Cairns were killed.**

**Still there’s nothing more than breathing.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, come on. Proving it’s just the detail. The painting is a fake. I’ve solved it. I’ve figured it out. It’s a fake! That’s the answer. That’s why they were killed.**

“All he cares about is solving it, doesn’t he?” Sally said with a hint of disgust staining her voice.

**When the phone remains silent, Sherlock takes a deep breath to calm himself.**

**SHERLOCK: Okay, I’ll prove it. Give me time. Will you give me time?**

**After a moment, the tremulous voice of a very young boy comes over the phone’s speaker.**

**BOY’s VOICE: Ten ...**

**Instantly Sherlock spins and looks closely at the painting.**

**LESTRADE (shocked): It’s a kid. Oh, God, it’s a kid!**

**JOHN: What did he say?**

**SHERLOCK: “Ten.”**

**BOY’s VOICE: Nine ...**

**SHERLOCK (narrowing his eyes as he scans every inch of the painting): It’s a countdown. He’s giving me time.**

**LESTRADE: Jesus!**

**SHERLOCK: The painting is a fake, but how can I prove it? How? How?**

**BOY’s VOICE: Eight ...**

**SHERLOCK (turning and glaring at Miss Wenceslas): This kid will die. Tell me why the painting is a fake. Tell me!**

**Miss Wenceslas flinches and opens her mouth, but Sherlock immediately holds up his hand to stop her.**

**BOY’s VOICE: Seven ...**

**SHERLOCK: No, shut up. Don’t say anything. It only works if I figure it out.**

“He’s a bit scary when he’s under pressure,” Anderson said. “Usually he’s so calm and collected.”

**He turns back to the painting again. Unable to stand the tension, John turns and walks away a few paces. Lestrade turns to watch him, probably wanting to join in the pacing as well.**

**SHERLOCK (to himself, continuing to scan the painting): Must be possible. Must be staring me in the face.**

“He should be looking at the stars,” Molly said. “It was two astronomers who knew it was a fake, so it must ben something about the stars.”

**BOY’s VOICE: Six ...**

**JOHN (urgently under his breath as he turns back): Come on.**

**SHERLOCK: Woodbridge knew, but how?**

**BOY’s VOICE: Five ...**

**LESTRADE: It’s speeding up!**

**JOHN (urgently): Sherlock.**

**Sherlock’s gaze falls on three tiny white dots of paint in the night sky. His mouth falls open as the penny finally drops.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh!**

**BOY’s VOICE: Four ...**

**SHERLOCK: In the planetarium! You heard it too. Oh, that is brilliant! That is gorgeous!**

“Sherlock!” John said, exasperated. “Is this _really_ the time for that?”

**Turning and shoving the pink phone into John’s hands, he walks away from the painting, grinning as he pulls out his own phone from his pocket.**

**BOY’s VOICE: Three ...**

**JOHN: What’s brilliant? What is?**

**Sherlock rapidly types “Astronomers” and “Supernovas” into his phone, then turns back and walks towards the others, laughing in delight.**

**SHERLOCK: This is beautiful. I love this!**

**BOY’s VOICE: Two ...**

**LESTRADE (furiously): Sherlock!**

**Sherlock grabs the pink phone from John and yells into it.**

**SHERLOCK: The Van Buren Supernova!**

**There’s a short pause, then the boy’s plaintive voice comes from the speaker.**

**BOY’s VOICE: Please. Is somebody there?**

There was a collective sigh of relief from everyone in the room. Even cold-hearted Mycroft relaxed, because the boy sounded so much like Sherlock from his younger years.

**Sherlock sighs out a relieved breath.**

Sally stared at Sherlock in confusion. Why was he relieved? Did he actually care about the boy, or was he just worried for his perfect record to be tarnished even more?

**BOY’s VOICE: Somebody help me!**

**SHERLOCK (turning and handing the phone to Lestrade): There you go. Go find out where he is and pick him up.**

**He gives John a long look, promising him a jolly good seeing-to later, then turns and points to one of the dots in the sky of the painting.**

**SHERLOCK: The Van Buren Supernova, so-called. (He holds up his phone over his shoulder so that Miss Wenceslas can see the screen.) Exploding star, only appeared in the sky in eighteen fifty-eight.**

**He turns and throws her a triumphant look, then walks away. John drags in a relieved breath, then walks closer to look at the painting.**

**JOHN: So how could it have been painted in the sixteen forties?**

“One star! That’s what was wrong with it? God, that bomber’s pushing harder and harder every time,” Sally said.

**He grins over his shoulder at Miss Wenceslas, then looks back to the picture again. His phone trills a text alert.**

**JOHN: Oh.**

**He digs out his phone, still breathing heavily, and looks at the message which reads:**

*****

**My patience is**

**wearing thin.**

**Mycroft Holmes**

*****

**He growls slightly, then looks up at the painting one last time.**

**JOHN: Oh Sherl...**

**He switches off the phone and walks away. Miss Wenceslas stares at the painting in shock.**

*****

“Well, that’s that, I guess!” Anderson said happily as the screen turned black once again.

Mycroft sighed. “At least I know that I’m not being ignored, but I would appreciate some updates from time to time, Mr. Watson,” he said, turning to look at John pointedly.

John blushed. “Sorry about that. I just thought that a timed case would be a bit less lenient about these sorts of things. I mean, how close was that, hmm?” he gave a nervous chuckle. “I _did_ go talk to the fiancé, though, and Sherlock wasn’t with me to just spout off answers.”

“Indeed,” the elder Holmes replied. “If my brother was with you, he would have easily seen that the brother was the killer.”

Anderson gapped. “Really? I was right?”

“Not so. You changed your opinion after the fact, and therefore were wrong. You may have guessed correctly, but with no way to prove it, it’s useless, as we were just shown a few moments ago.”

Anderson visibly deflated in his seat. “Fine.”

*******

**~CSP2708~**


	24. 1x3 Part 7 - The Great Game

“Now that we’ve reconfirmed that Anderson isn’t very good at his job, let’s get on with the next part, shall we?” John asked, a little exasperated at Mycroft’s attitude.

The screen turned black again, just so that more words could pop up. _“Awwww. I was liking the little beatdown he was giving Anderson. Fine, then.”_ The screen lit up and they reappeared at Scotland Yard.

**NEW SCOTLAND YARD. Sherlock and Miss Wenceslas are sitting side by side in front of Lestrade’s desk while the inspector sits in a chair to the side of the desk. Sherlock has his hands in the prayer position under his chin.**

**SHERLOCK: You know, it’s interesting. Bohemian stationery, an assassin named after a Prague legend, and you, Miss Wenceslas. This whole case has a distinctly Czech feeling about it. Is that where this leads?**

**She looks down and doesn’t answer.**

**SHERLOCK: What are we looking at, Inspector?**

**LESTRADE (thoughtfully): Well, um, criminal conspiracy, fraud, accessory after the fact at the very least. The murder of the old woman, all the people in the flats ...**

John scoffed. “That’s one way to make her talk. Anyone, really.”

**MISS WENCESLAS (panicked, to Lestrade): I didn’t know anything about that! All those things! Please believe me.**

**As she continues to stare at Lestrade, Sherlock gives him a tiny nod to confirm that she’s telling the truth.**

**MISS WENCESLAS: I just wanted my share – the thirty million.**

**She looks across to Sherlock, then sighs and lowers her head again.**

**MISS WENCESLAS: I found a little old man in Argentina. Genius. I mean, really: brushwork immaculate, could fool anyone.**

“When why didn’t he just make his own art and sell that?” Molly asked, tilting her head slightly.

“The real question is,” Mycroft said, “If they were trying to fool people for a profit of more than double thirty million, why didn’t they make sure everything was in order?”

“Yeah.” Anderson let out a sigh. “One bloomin’ star and the whole thing went up in smoke.”

**SHERLOCK (sarcastically): Hm!**

**MISS WENCESLAS (looking at him briefly): Well, nearly anyone. (She turns back to Lestrade.) But I didn’t know how to go about convincing the world the picture was genuine. It was just an idea – a spark which he blew into a flame.**

“He?” Anderson asked.

“Moriarty, probably,” Molly answered shortly. “He does like to make it all about him.”

**SHERLOCK (sharply): Who?**

**MISS WENCESLAS (shaking her head): I don’t know.**

**Lestrade gives a disbelieving laugh.**

**MISS WENCESLAS: It’s true! I mean, it took a long time, but eventually I was put in touch with people ... his people.**

**Sherlock slowly begins to sit up in his chair, his expression becoming more concentrated.**

**MISS WENCESLAS: Well, there was never any real contact; just messages ... whispers.**

**Sherlock leans closer to her, his face intense.**

**SHERLOCK: And did those whispers have a name?**

**She gazes ahead of herself for a moment, then looks across to Lestrade before nodding. She turns her head to Sherlock.**

**MISS WENCESLAS: Moriarty.**

“I’m surprised he’d give his name, but it seems like he’s trying to get Sherlock’s attention, and he’s probably already wiped himself from all records, so he’s not really in any danger of being discovered,” Molly said.

“Hm. Some people are just for the dramatics. My husband was the same way,” Mrs. Hudson said absentmindedly.

**Slowly Sherlock sinks back in his chair. As Miss Wenceslas looks anxiously at Lestrade again, Sherlock gazes into the distance, his eyes full of thought. Eventually, he raises his hands into the prayer position in front of his mouth, then grins.**

*****

**BATTERSEA. Wearing a high-vis jacket over his coat, John is walking along the railway lines with the Tube guard who found Andrew West’s body.**

**JOHN: So, this is where West was found?**

**TUBE GUARD: Yeah.**

**JOHN: Uh-huh.**

**TUBE GUARD: You gonna be long?**

**JOHN: I might be.**

**TUBE GUARD: You with the police, then?**

**JOHN: Sort of.**

**TUBE GUARD: I hate ’em.**

“Well, excuse me-!”

**JOHN: The police?**

**TUBE GUARD: No. Jumpers.**

“Oh,” Anderson said, ducking his head. “Carry on.”

**TUBE GUARD: People who chuck themselves in front of trains.**

**TUBE GUARD: Selfish bastards.**

**JOHN: Well, that’s one way of looking at it.**

**He squats down to look more closely at the railway track.**

**TUBE GUARD: I mean it. It’s all right for them. It’s over in a split second – strawberry jam all over the lines. What about the drivers, hmm? They’ve gotta live with it, haven’t they?**

Anderson was pale. “I’m never eating strawberry jam ever again. At least, not without thinking about that.” He groaned. “My toast will be plain!”

**John runs his fingers along the track, then lifts his hand to look at it.**

**JOHN: Yeah, speaking of strawberry jam, there’s no blood on the line. (He stands up again.) Has it been cleaned off?**

**TUBE GUARD: No, there wasn’t that much.**

**JOHN: You said his head was smashed in.**

**TUBE GUARD: Well, it was, but there wasn’t much blood.**

“Well, that doesn’t make much sense,” Molly said. Her eyebrows were furrowed. Of course, she knew that it was a murder and that the man had probably been killed somewhere else, and brought down to the train line, but how could anyone think that the man had jumped and got his head smashed in without a lot of blood? Wouldn’t the _lack_ of blood at least be a cause for further inspection?

**JOHN: Okay.**

**He turns and looks along the line thoughtfully.**

**TUBE GUARD: Well, I’ll leave you to it then.**

**John walks a few yards further down the line and then squats down again.**

**TUBE GUARD: Just give us a shout when you’re off.**

**JOHN: Right.**

**The guard walks away. John stands up again and talks to himself.**

**JOHN: Right: so, uh, Andrew West got on the train somewhere – or did he? There’s no ticket on the body. Then how did he end up here?**

**Beside him, the points change and a set of the tracks slides sideways into a new layout. John squats down again and looks at the tracks thoughtfully.**

**SHERLOCK (from behind him): Points.**

**JOHN: Yes!**

**He springs to his feet and turns around to see his flatmate standing nearby.**

**SHERLOCK: Knew you’d get there eventually. West wasn’t killed here; that’s why there was so little blood.**

**JOHN: How long have you been following me?**

**SHERLOCK: Since the start. You don’t think I’d give up on a case like this just to spite my brother, do you?**

“I can never tell with Sherlock,” John admitted. “I honestly thought he did.”

**He turns and starts walking away.**

**SHERLOCK: Come on. Got a bit of burglary to do.**

“Wait. What?”

*****

**Shortly afterwards the boys are walking along a street.**

**SHERLOCK: The missile defence plans haven’t left the country, otherwise Mycroft’s people would have heard about it. Despite what people think, we do still have a Secret Service.**

**JOHN: Yeah, I know. I’ve met them.**

**SHERLOCK: Which means whoever stole the memory stick can’t sell it or doesn’t know what to do with it. My money’s on the latter. We’re here.**

**JOHN: Where?**

**Sherlock turns into the drive of a maisonette and trots up the steps at the side of the building which lead to the front door of flat 21A on the first floor. As he rummages in his pocket, John whispers to him urgently.**

**JOHN: Sherlock! What if there’s someone in?**

**SHERLOCK: There isn’t.**

“And how exactly does he know that?” Anderson asked.

Everyone turned to Mycroft, but the elder Holmes didn’t even bother to answer that question, though he could see the obvious clues.

**He picks the lock and goes inside.**

**JOHN (softly): Jesus!**

“He _did_ say he was going to do some burglary, John,” Molly said. “He most certainly knows who killed Andrew and is going to steal the memory stick back from them.”

**He hurries inside and shuts the door. Sherlock trots up the short flight of stairs ahead of him and walks into the living room.**

**JOHN: Where are we?**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, sorry, didn’t I say? Joe Harrison’s flat.**

“Joe? As in the fiancée’s brother?” Sally asked.

“I did say so, didn’t I?” Mycroft said airily.

“Oh,” came her flat, annoyed reply. “Right.”

**JOHN: Joe ...?**

**Sherlock goes straight over to the window and pulls back the net curtain. He grins in satisfaction at the sight which greets him outside.**

**SHERLOCK: Brother of West’s fiancée.**

**Outside the window is a one-storey extension, the roof of which can be easily climbed onto from the window. The extension goes all the way to the bottom of the garden which ends in a wall, and directly on the other side of the wall is the railway line.**

**SHERLOCK: He stole the memory stick; killed his prospective brother-in-law.**

**Dropping to his knees, he gets out his magnifier and uses it to slowly examine the edge of the window sill. John walks across to him and peers over his shoulder as Sherlock finds some tiny blood-red spots on the white paint.**

“He was murdered in that house!” Anderson declared.

“Wot? How do _you_ know that?”

“There’s blood on the sill, and we know that Joe’s the murderer, so that _must_ be it!”

**JOHN: Then why’d he do it?**

**He straightens up and turns at the sound of someone unlocking the front door. Sherlock also stands.**

**SHERLOCK: Let’s ask him.**

“Did he seriously follow you around, figure out the case, _and_ memorize the murderer’s daily schedule without you knowing about it? All the while he was solving another case and pretending that he didn’t care about this one at all?”

John shrugged. “Pretty much, Greg.”

**Reaching round to the back of his jeans, John walks quietly to the door of the living room as the front door slams. He steps out onto the landing just as Joe, wearing his courier gear, is leaning his bicycle against the wall. When he sees John, he picks up the bike as if he intends to use it as a weapon or simply to throw it at him. John instantly raises his right hand and points his pistol at him.**

**JOHN (sternly): Don’t.**

**For a moment Joe keeps coming but John shakes his head.**

**JOHN: Don’t.**

**Joe stops and lowers the bike, sighing in a mixture of frustration and fear.**

*****

**Shortly afterwards he is sitting on the sofa while the boys stand nearby. He is very distressed.**

**JOE: It wasn’t meant to ...**

**Sherlock looks away, exasperated.**

**JOE: God. (He rubs his hand over his face.) What’s Lucy gonna say? Jesus.**

Sally nearly blew up. “He murders his sister’s finance and _that’s_ what he’s got to say for himself? She’s going to go bloody ballistic!”

**He sinks back on the sofa.**

**JOHN: Why did you kill him?**

**JOE: It was an accident.**

**Sherlock snorts.**

**JOE: I swear it was.**

**SHERLOCK (sternly): But stealing the plans for the missile defence programme wasn’t an accident, was it?**

**JOE: I started dealing drugs. I mean, the bike thing’s a great cover, right? I dunno – I dunno how it started; I just got out of my depth. I owed people thousands – serious people. Then at Westie’s engagement do, he starts talking about his job.**

**Throughout the next part of the scene there are flashbacks to Joe and Westie in a pub which re-enact what Joe is describing.**

**JOE: I mean, usually he’s so careful; but that night after a few pints he really opened up. He told me about these missile plans – beyond top secret. He showed me the memory stick; he waved it in front of me. You hear about these things getting lost, ending up on rubbish tips and what-not. And there it was, and I thought ... well, I thought it could be worth a fortune.**

**In flashback, Joe helps a very drunk Westie into his jacket and slips the memory stick out of his shirt pocket while he’s doing so.**

Mycroft scowled. “John, remind me to comb through our secret service and fire anyone who could be so careless.”

“Why do I have to do it? God knows how many stooges you have back at… whatever shadowy government building you work at,” he said, eyebrows furrowed, and head tilted in confusion.

**JOE: It was pretty easy to get the thing off him, he was so plastered. Next time I saw him, I could tell by the look on his face that he knew.**

**In flashback, Joe is letting himself into his flat at night time when Westie hurries up the steps and grabs him.**

“It’s different seeing it than hearing it, right Watson?” Anderson nudged the stout man.

**WESTIE (in flashback): I know you took it.**

**JOE (in flashback): What are you doin’ ’ere?**

**WESTIE (in flashback): What have you done with it?**

**JOE (in flashback): What are you talking about?**

**WESTIE (in flashback): What have you done with the plans?**

**In the present, Joe looks up guiltily at John.**

**JOHN: What happened?**

“He must’ve fallen,” Molly said. “And got a nasty abrasion to the back of his head. That amount of blood loss… would kill anyone in a matter of seconds.

**In flashback, Westie and Joe scuffle on the small landing outside the front door. Joe angrily shoves Westie and he loses his footing and rolls down the steps, landing heavily on the ground.**

**JOE: I was gonna call an ambulance, but it was too late.**

**In flashback, Joe has hauled Westie’s limp body into the living room, his face full of anguish.**

**JOE: I just didn’t have a clue what to do, so I dragged him in ’ere, and I just sat in the dark, thinking.**

“Why wouldn’t he just call the ambulance anyway? And just say he fell? It’s not far off from the truth, and it’s better than dragging a dead boy into your apartment,” Sally commented.

“Oh, is that what _you_ would do, Sally?” John accused.

“That would’ve at least given his sister closure,” Molly said, “he just let her believe that her fiancé killed himself. She believed that he wasn’t happy with his life – with her. That must’ve been awful!”

**SHERLOCK: When a neat little idea popped into your head.**

**As Joe hauls Westie across to the window, a train pulls up on the tracks outside, its brakes squealing noisily. Shortly afterwards, Joe has dragged Westie out of the window and is tugging him across the extension roof. Pulling him over the top of the wall, he steps across onto the roof of the train and drags the body over, settling it into a position along the slightly curved roof so that it won’t easily fall off. He steps back onto the wall and the train sounds its horn and then continues on down the track.**

**SHERLOCK (pushing the net curtain aside and looking out of the window): Carrying Andrew West way away from here. His body would have gone on for ages if the train hadn’t met a stretch of track that curved.**

**In flashback, the train rockets through the area that John was recently investigating. The combination of the curve and the jolting of the train as it passes over the points throws Westie’s body off the roof and onto the trackside.**

“If not for the curve, no one would know that he was dead, or suspected that he’d jumped because he’d probably be on the other side of England or in the deep countryside with no one around for ages,” Anderson said slowly.

“That’s what they just said, genius!” Sally hissed at him.

**JOHN: And points.**

**SHERLOCK: Exactly.**

**And the Tube guard walks along the track and finds Westie’s body the next morning.**

**JOHN: D’you still have it, then? The memory stick?**

**Joe nods.**

**SHERLOCK: Fetch it for me – if you wouldn’t mind.**

**Sighing unhappily, Joe stands up and walks into another room. Sherlock walks closer to John.**

**SHERLOCK (quietly): Distraction over, the game continues.**

**JOHN: Well, maybe that’s over, too. We’ve heard nothing from the bomber.**

**SHERLOCK: Five pips, remember, John? It’s a countdown. We’ve only had four.**

“Well, maybe that first bomb that went off in their house counted as the first one?” Anderson suggested.

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard! Five pips means five _more_! Not five in total!”

*****

**NIGHT TIME. 221B. Both Sherlock and John are in their coats because the windows still haven’t been replaced. Sherlock is sitting in his armchair with his feet up on the seat and his arms folded tightly around him, trying to conserve heat. The pink phone is on the arm of the chair. Behind him, John is sitting at the dining table, typing on his laptop. The TV is on and a Jerry Springer/Jeremy Kyle-type show is playing. As the audience boos noisily, Sherlock yells indignantly at the telly.**

**SHERLOCK: No, no, no! Of course he’s not the boy’s father! (He gestures at the screen.) Look at the turn-ups on his jeans!**

**Sighing, he folds his arms again. John, who has looked round to see what Sherlock is protesting about, gets back to his typing.**

**JOHN: Knew it was dangerous.**

“Wait… what’s dangerous? What are you doing, John?”

**SHERLOCK: Hmm?**

**JOHN: Getting you into crap telly.**

“Oh. Seriously?”

“I don’t know,” Molly said with a smile. “I kind of like watching the boys just being normal people for once.”

**SHERLOCK: Hmm. Not a patch on Connie Prince.**

**JOHN: Have you given Mycroft the memory stick yet?**

**SHERLOCK: Yep. He was over the moon. Threatened me with a knighthood – again.**

“Threatened?” Molly looked amused.

“Knighthood?” Anderson was in awe.

“Again?” Lestrade asked incredulously. Unlike the others, he looked at John for an explanation, though he just shrugged.

“I never asked.”

The DI then turned to Mycroft, who glared at the screen. “My little brother never actually brought those plans back to me. And I only threatened knighthood for him once, before he made such a fuss that I rescinded the offer.”

**JOHN: You know, I’m still waiting.**

**SHERLOCK: Hmm?**

**JOHN: For you to admit that a little knowledge of the solar system and you’d have cleared up the fake painting a lot quicker.**

“I wonder if he’ll actually admit to it?” Anderson whispered quietly to himself. He frowned. “Probably not.”

**SHERLOCK: Didn’t do you any good, did it?**

**JOHN: No, but I’m not the world’s only consulting detective.**

**SHERLOCK (smiling): True.**

“Aww; you got him to smile.” The corners of Mrs. Hudson’s mouth turned upwards. “I love how you two can be so sweet for each other! So wonderful! If only _my_ relationship turned out the same…”

**John has closed the lid of his laptop and now stands up.**

**JOHN: I won’t be in for tea. I’m going to Sarah’s. There’s still some of that risotto left in the fridge.**

**SHERLOCK (his eyes still fixed on the TV): Mm!**

**John stops at the door.**

**JOHN: Uh, milk. We need milk.**

**SHERLOCK: I’ll get some.**

**JOHN (turning back with a look of disbelief on his face): Really?!**

**SHERLOCK: Really.**

**JOHN: And some beans, then?**

**SHERLOCK (still not looking away from the TV): Mm.**

“Did you really believe him, dear? I’m not sure Sherlock ever did pick up those groceries like you asked.” Mrs. Hudson looked at John.

He sighed. “Of course I didn’t believe him, but I couldn’t exactly get them myself, now could I? Especially after what happened when I left the flat.”

“What happened after that, again?” Anderson seemed very confused; he must’ve forgotten. Strange, for sure, but possible, knowing him.

**John hesitates, still surprised, but then nods and walks away. Sherlock continues to gaze at the TV until he hears the downstairs door open and close, then he picks up his computer notebook from where it was tucked down beside him. Putting it on his lap and opening the lid, he stares at the message box on The Science of Deduction website before starting to type.**

*****

**Found. The Bruce-Partington plans. Please collect.**

A few gasps rang throughout the room. Of course, it was well known that Sherlock met Moriarty for the first time – officially – at that pool, but it wasn’t known _how_ he’d gotten the madman to show up. Bargaining the memory stick… that was a risky move.

*****

**He lifts his eyes in thought for a moment, then quirks a small smile before returning to his typing.**

*****

**The Pool. Midnight.**

*****

**He sends the message, then closes the lid, gazing thoughtfully into the distance.**

“What does that psychopath think he’s doing? He’s selling out his country to – what? Meet another psychopath? Be clever? How could _any_ of you be okay with this?” Sally actually did blow up this time, and it seemed like her ears were smoking. Her eyes were lit with a fire that hadn’t been seen for many episodes already, not since Mycroft’s cold threat to her job and her life as she knew it quenched the flames. Now, however, it was back, and she was on a warpath.

“Well, obviously he didn’t give the plans to Moriarty,” Lestrade said in defence of his long-time friend. “He was probably just saying that to lure him in. To finally put them on even ground.”

Sally turned her glare to him, which surprisingly made him shrink in his seat. “Mycroft already said that he never got the plans back from Sherlock! How do we know that he didn’t sell us out? You said yourself that Moriarty is very crafty!”

“If my brother would’ve given the plans to that vile man, we would’ve known about it. Besides, I said that _Sherlock_ never gave them to me. Some of our men swept the pool and found the memory stick at the bottom, rendered completely useless.”

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	25. 1x3 Part 8 - The Great Game

The screen – black once again, lit up with new words; _“I am pleased to inform you that this next session is to be the last part of this first ‘season’ as one may call it. This may confuse you, so let me explain: each season ends after Sherlock has a particularly excellent or gruelling case, usually one that wraps up the several cases shown beforehand. Such as, in this season, Moriarty was behind the Study in Pink, the Blind Banker, and the Great Game, therefore, once Sherlock and he meet face to face for the first time, the end is sure to follow. Similarly, the next season ends only when Sherlock defeats his enemy once and for all.”_

John read this message aloud, then pondered, “Why call it a season? You’re treating our lives like a show on the crap telly that Sherlock used to yell at.”

“Why can’t we just start it already?” Anderson asked, quite impatient.

In actuality, everyone in the room was impatient, hoping to begin the end quickly. It was rather ironic, in retrospect, as most in the room knew the happenings of the very next scene, though not in detail. Perhaps they wanted to witness what had actually happened between their detective ally and his greatest opponent, or perhaps gain closure as to whether he’d truly been evil and acting all this time. Or, even further, perhaps they just wanted to witness the revelation appear on the detective’s face once he realised that he’d already met Moriarty, and how the man had played him for a fool – something he was not used to. Whichever reason those in the room had for their restlessness, they were all thoroughly relieved when the script on the screen vanished and the scene renewed.

**SWIMMING POOL. Sherlock opens a door leading into the area surrounding an indoor swimming pool. The lights are on but there is nobody visible in the area. Somewhere between Baker Street and here, he has taken off his Coat and is just wearing his suit, so presumably, the heating is on as well. He walks slowly towards the shallow end of the pool, probably very aware that the upper gallery where people sit and watch the swimmers is still in darkness. He stops at the edge of the pool and turns, trying to see up into the viewing gallery. Finally, he turns towards the pool again, raising one hand and holding up the memory stick.**

**SHERLOCK (loudly): Brought you a little getting-to-know-you present. Oh, that’s what it’s all been for, hasn’t it? All your little puzzles; making me dance – all to distract me from this.**

“A moderate assumption, to be sure, as Sherlock doesn’t know Moriarty’s motives very well. Fortunately – or unfortunately – Moriarty’s explanations for his actions hold true, and he only wishes to see my brother dance.”

**He gestures with the memory stick, then begins to turn in a slow circle while he waits for a response. When his back is turned to the pool, a door opens halfway down the room. Sherlock looks over his shoulder, still holding the memory stick aloft. And John Watson walks through the door and into the pool area, wrapped snugly in a hooded jacket with his hands tucked into the pockets. He turns and looks at Sherlock as the detective stares back at him in absolute shock.**

“Please! Pause it here! I need a picture of this!” Anderson was desperate as he shouted. Surprisingly, the image froze, and Anderson pulled out his mobile phone to take a picture.

_“Sorry to tell you this, but once this is over, you will not be allowed to take anything with you when I send you back. Rest assured, you may keep your phone, but that picture will be gone. Cherish it while it lasts.”_

Anderson visibly deflated, though grinned as he cast his eyes to the picture again. “Fine.”

**JOHN: Evening.**

**Sherlock’s raised hand begins to lower slowly but otherwise, he doesn’t move, still staring over his shoulder in utter disbelief.**

**JOHN: This is a turn-up, isn’t it, Sherlock?**

**SHERLOCK (softly, shocked): John. What the hell ...?**

**JOHN: Bet you never saw this coming.**

**Finally, Sherlock manages to move and starts to walk slowly towards the man he had believed to be his friend until now. The shock and bewilderment on his face make him look about twelve years old. Then, with a look of despair which matches Sherlock’s, John takes his hands from his pockets and pulls open his jacket to reveal the bomb strapped to his chest. From somewhere in the upper gallery, the point from a sniper’s laser immediately begins to dance around over the bomb.**

Molly gasped in horror, as did Mrs. Hudson. “John!” exclaimed the elderly woman, “How could you never tell me about this? You silly young man!”

“Sorry, Mrs. H. I didn’t want you to worry, y’know?” He gave a half-hearted shrug.

**JOHN: What ... would you like me ... to make him say ... next?**

**Sherlock continues to step towards him but now he is looking everywhere but at John as he tries to see who else is in the area.**

**JOHN (obviously narrating words spoken into an earpiece): Gottle o’ geer ... gottle o’ geer ... gottle o’ geer.**

**His voice almost breaks on the last phrase.**

“That sick *******!” Lestrade shouted, tensing in his seat.

The words – a variation of “bottle of beer” was well known to be a difficult phrase for most ventriloquists, and as such, was typically marred when said. This was Moriarty’s way of claiming John – of humiliating him. In Moriarty’s eyes, after all, John was just a ventriloquist dummy: speaking none of his own words and making none of his own actions.

**SHERLOCK: Stop it.**

**JOHN (narrating): Nice touch, this: the pool where little Carl died. I stopped him. (He tries not to cringe as he listens to the next words.) I can stop John Watson too. (He looks down at the laser point on his chest.) Stop his heart.**

“God, John. That must’ve been so… so difficult to say,” Molly said. “I’m so sorry that I didn’t realize it earlier.” She looked down.

“It’s okay, Molly. It’s not your fault; he had us all fooled, Sherlock included. Besides, good luck that you didn’t figure it out, or _you_ probably would’ve been the one in that vest,” the ex-army doctor assured her.

**SHERLOCK (turning on the spot while he tries to look in all directions): Who are you?**

**A door opens at the far end of the pool and a soft male voice with an Irish accent speaks from that direction.**

**VOICE: I gave you my number.**

**We get a brief glimpse of a man wearing a suit and tie, but currently, he is mostly obscured by a column.**

**VOICE (plaintively): I thought you might call.**

“Can we just take a moment to imagine what would’ve happened if Sherlock _had_ called him?” Lestrade asked, looking at the others out of the corners of his eyes.

“What do you think would’ve happened?” John looked at the DI in return, meeting his eyes.

“Honestly, I’m not sure, but if I were to guess, I’d say it would’ve been an excellent misunderstanding for all of us.” He gave an uncertain bark of laughter before falling silent again.

**Sherlock turns towards the new arrival, who now slowly walks out into the open. It’s Jim, Molly’s boyfriend. But this isn’t the fumble-fingered casually-dressed Londoner who did indeed leave his number for Sherlock in the lab at Bart’s; this is a sharply-dressed man with immaculate hair and a murderous look on his face. With his hands in his pockets, he casually begins to stroll alongside the deep end of the pool, heading towards Sherlock and John. All hint of plaintiveness has now gone from his voice.**

**JIM: Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket ...**

**Sherlock reaches down to his trouser pocket and removes a pistol from it.**

**JIM: ... or are you just pleased to see me?**

“Is he… _flirting_ … with Sherlock?” Anderson asked hesitantly, his voice stuttering with confusion.

“I think he is…” Donovan replied, just as confused. Her brain was spinning in circles inside her head. It was all too confusing for words, but she managed to speak by some miracle – or curse.

**SHERLOCK (raising the pistol and aiming it towards Jim): Both.**

Anderson swore loudly, leaping out of his seat. “Is Sherlock _flirting back?_ ” He shook his head, smacking himself as if to reset his brain. “Is anyone else finding this _absolutely insane_?”

They all stared at him blankly. It seemed that no one could comprehend it – other than Mycroft of course, who, well, no one could ever tell what he was thinking anyway.

**Jim stops and looks back at him, unafraid.**

**JIM: Jim Moriarty. Hi!**

**Sherlock tilts his head while he looks more closely at the man. Jim acts as if he needs to remind Sherlock who he is.**

**JIM: Jim? Jim from the hospital?**

**He begins to walk alongside the deep end again. Sherlock brings up his other hand to support the one aiming the gun. Jim bites his lip as if disappointed.**

**JIM: Oh. Did I really make such a fleeting impression? But then, I suppose, that was rather the point.**

**He turns to face Sherlock just as the sniper’s laser flickers over John’s upper chest. Sherlock briefly turns his head towards John, a questioning look on his face.**

**JIM (starting to walk again): Don’t be silly. Someone else is holding the rifle. I don’t like getting my hands dirty.**

Molly looked at John. “John, did you ever find out who was holding that rifle?”

“Hired gun. I dunno. We never saw a face or heard a name.”

**He reaches the corner of the pool and stops.**

**JIM: I’ve given you a glimpse, Sherlock, just a teensy glimpse of what I’ve got going on out there in the big bad world. I’m a specialist, you see ...**

**He looks surprised as if he has only just realized the connection.**

**JIM: ... like you!**

**SHERLOCK: “Dear Jim. Please will you fix it for me to get rid of my lover’s nasty sister?”**

**Starting to walk forward again, Jim grins, clearly recognizing the TV show and catchphrase that Sherlock is quoting.**

“I feel like that’s a quote,” Anderson said, “Is that a quote?”

“Yes, Anderson, it’s a quote.”

“What is it a quote from?”

“TV show. “Jim’ll Fix It”. Well known, too, before it was cancelled in 1944. Though it was mostly for children to write to the host and he’ll fix things for them.”

**SHERLOCK: “Dear Jim. Please will you fix it for me to disappear to South America?”**

**JIM (stopping again): Just so.**

**SHERLOCK: Consulting criminal. (softly) Brilliant.**

Sally sighed, rolling her eyes. “How did I guess that Holmes still hasn’t sorted out his priorities.”

**JIM (smiling proudly): Isn’t it? No-one ever gets to me – and no-one ever will.**

**SHERLOCK (cocking the pistol): I did.**

**JIM: You’ve come the closest. Now you’re in my way.**

**SHERLOCK: Thank you.**

**JIM: Didn’t mean it as a compliment.**

**SHERLOCK: Yes, you did.**

**JIM (shrugging): Yeah, okay, I did. But the flirting’s over, Sherlock ... (His voice becomes high-pitched and sing-song.) Daddy’s had enough now!**

“So, it seems that Moriarty was actively flirting. The question is: why? and why was Sherlock doing it back?” Lestrade said.

Anderson shivered. He stared at his commanding officer incredulously. “You’re asking that question, but you’re not going to talk about how creepy Moriarty’s voice is right now? That’s the stuff of nightmares right there!”

**He again starts to stroll closer.**

**JIM (back to his normal tone): I’ve shown you what I can do. I cut loose all those people, all those little problems, even thirty million quid just to get you to come out and play.**

**John is starting to feel the strain and closes his eyes briefly. Sherlock’s eyes can’t help but flicker across to him a couple of times as he tries to keep his focus on the man approaching them.**

**JIM: So, take this as a friendly warning, my dear. Back off.**

**He smiles.**

**JIM: Although I have loved this – this little game of ours. (He puts on his London accent for a moment.) Playing Jim from I.T. (He switches back to his Irish accent.) Playing gay. Did you like the little touch with the underwear?**

**SHERLOCK: People have died.**

**JIM: That’s what people DO!**

Everyone, par Mycroft, jumped in their seats. Even John, who’d already been there, was caught off guard by the sudden volume of Moriarty’s voice. Then again, he hadn’t been that close to the man while this exchange was happening.

**He screams the last word furiously, his personality changing in an instant.**

**SHERLOCK (softly): I will stop you.**

**JIM (calmer again): No, you won’t.**

**Sherlock looks across to John.**

**SHERLOCK: You all right?**

**John deliberately keeps his gaze away from his friend, presumably having been given instructions earlier about not talking to him. Jim walks forward again and reaches his side.**

**JIM: You can talk, Johnny-boy. Go ahead.**

**Refusing to specifically obey Jim’s orders, John meets Sherlock’s eyes and nods once. Sherlock takes one hand off the pistol and holds out the memory stick towards Jim.**

**SHERLOCK: Take it.**

Anderson smiled demurely. “Aww! Sherlock’ll do anything to keep Johnny safe! Isn’t that sweet?”

Lestrade grinned as well. “You sure you two weren’t a thing?”

“Yes! I’m sure!”

**JIM: Huh? Oh! That!**

**He strolls past John and reaches out for the stick, grinning.**

**JIM: The missile plans!**

**He takes the stick from Sherlock’s fingers and brings it to his mouth, kissing it. Behind him, John is silently murmuring to himself, perhaps trying to keep himself focussed, perhaps winding himself up to take action, or maybe just expressing his surprise or disappointment that Sherlock lied to him about giving the plans to Mycroft. Jim lowers the memory stick and looks at it.**

**JIM (sing-song): Boring!**

**He shakes his head.**

**JIM: I could have got them anywhere.**

“I don’t know what’s more alarming: the fact that Moriarty just tossed the item that caused so much hassle into a pool just because he could, or that he could’ve hacked the British government any time he wanted without breaking a sweat,” Lestrade said. He turned to his boss for reassurance.

“Extra precautions have been made, of course, about the security of the plans,” Mycroft replied, coolly. As usual, nothing in his countenance revealed his thoughts nor his feelings on the matter.

**He nonchalantly tosses the stick into the pool. Seeing his opportunity, John races forward and slams himself against Jim’s back, wrapping one arm around his neck and the other around his chest. Sherlock backs up a step-in surprise but keeps the pistol raised and aimed at Jim.**

**JOHN: Sherlock, run!**

**Jim laughs in delight.**

**JIM: Good! Very good.**

**Sherlock doesn’t move, still aiming his gun at Jim’s head but now starting to look up a little anxiously, as if wondering what action the hidden sniper might take.**

**JOHN (savagely): If your sniper pulls that trigger, Mr. Moriarty, then we both go up.**

**JIM (calmly, to Sherlock): Isn’t he sweet? I can see why you like having him around. But then people do get so sentimental about their pets.**

**Grimacing angrily, John pulls him even closer onto the bomb which is now sandwiched between them. Jim scowls round at him.**

**JIM: They’re so touchingly loyal. But, oops!**

**He grins briefly at John, then looks towards Sherlock.**

**JIM: You’ve rather shown your hand there, Doctor Watson.**

**He chuckles as a new laser point appears in the middle of Sherlock’s forehead. John stares in horror as Jim looks round at him expectantly. Sherlock, either seeing the edge of the laser beam shining from the gallery or realizing what’s happening from John’s expression, shakes his head slightly.**

“Always has to be prepared, doesn’t he? The bloody *******,” Lestrade said.

Mrs. Hudson gasped again. “Mind your language, Greg,” she hushed him. “I’m trying to watch this.”

The DI gapped, as did the other New Scotland Yarders.

**JIM (sing-song): Gotcha!**

**He chuckles as John releases his grip on him and steps back, holding his hands up to signal to the sniper that he won’t be trying anything else. Jim glances round at him, then turns back towards Sherlock while brushing his hands down his suit to straighten it. He gestures to it indignantly.**

**JIM: Westwood!**

“Of course, he’s worried about his expensive suit being ruined,” Sally growled.

“Do you even know what Westwood is?” Mycroft asked the sergeant in a patronizing tone.

Sally’s face turned slightly red in indignation at his condescending remark, though she just barely managed to keep her head. “Of course, I do! We may not all be rich like you Holmes seem to be, but I can recognize a good suit when I see it.”

**He lowers his hands and stands calmly in front of Sherlock who is still aiming the pistol at his head.**

**JIM: D’you know what happens if you don’t leave me alone, Sherlock, to you?**

**SHERLOCK (sounding bored): Oh, let me guess: I get killed.**

**JIM: Kill you? (He grimaces.) N-no, don’t be obvious. I mean, I’m gonna kill you anyway someday. I don’t wanna rush it, though. I’m saving it up for something special. No-no-no-no-no. If you don’t stop prying, I’ll burn you.**

**He runs his eyes briefly down Sherlock’s body, then meets his eyes again and his voice becomes vicious.**

**JIM: I’ll burn the heart out of you.**

**His face is a snarl as he says the word ‘heart’ but at the end of the sentence, he looks almost regretful.**

**SHERLOCK (softly): I have been reliably informed that I don’t have one.**

Unbeknownst to the others, Molly looked down, saddened that Sherlock thought that of himself. Why did people have to be so mean, just because he was different? Sure, she’d said some similar things to him, herself, disregarding Sherlock’s… condition… due to her own self-righteousness, but obviously, this wasn’t caused by an outburst. Sherlock’s sense of self-doubt when it came to his heart was caused by constant and repetitive acknowledgement to his lack of feelings, most likely an account given by Sally Donovan and the forensic scientist: Anderson.

Sally, now just beginning to see the extent of her effect on the detective, had the decency to look down in shame.

**JIM: But we both know that’s not quite true.**

**Sherlock blinks involuntarily. Jim looks down, smiling, then shrugs.**

**JIM: Well, I’d better be off.**

**He nonchalantly looks around, perhaps checking his exit route, before turning back to Sherlock.**

**JIM: Well, so nice to have had a proper chat.**

**Sherlock raises the pistol higher and extends it closer to Jim’s head.**

**SHERLOCK: What if I was to shoot you now – right now?**

“Please do it!” Molly shouted, much to the surprise of the others. She looked at them. “What? I know he doesn’t but if he had, that man wouldn’t have become the problem he was, and Sherlock would still be alive. That man ruined everything! Why _can’t_ I hope that he would’ve been shot?”

“Well, for one, Sherlock would’ve been in jail for murder,” Lestrade pointed out.

Molly crossed her arms.

“Still better than dead, though,” Sally pointed out.

**JIM (completely unperturbed): Then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face.**

**He opens his eyes and mouth wide, mimicking shock, then grins at Sherlock.**

**JIM: ’Cause I’d be surprised, Sherlock; really I would.**

Molly scowled. “Unfortunately, he knows _just_ the right words to say to keep Sherlock from doing such a thing.”

**He screws up his nose.**

**JIM: And just a teensy bit disappointed. And, of course, you wouldn’t be able to cherish it for very long.**

**Slowly he begins to turn away.**

**JIM: Ciao, Sherlock Holmes.**

**Looking back at Sherlock with some distaste, he walks calmly towards the side door through which John came earlier. Sherlock slowly steps forward to keep him in view.**

**SHERLOCK: Catch ... you ... later.**

**The door opens, and Jim’s voice can be heard, high-pitched and sing-song.**

**JIM: No, you won’t!**

**The door closes. Sherlock doesn’t move for a few seconds, his gun still aimed towards the door, then his gaze drifts across to John and he instantly bends, putting the pistol on the floor, then drops to his knees in front of John and starts unfastening the vest to which the bomb is attached.**

**SHERLOCK: All right?**

**John tilts his head back, breathing heavily.**

**SHERLOCK (urgently): Are you all right?**

**JOHN: Yeah-yeah, I’m fine.**

**Having unfastened the vest, Sherlock jumps up and hurries around behind John, starting to pull off the jacket and the bomb vest.**

**JOHN: I’m fine.**

**Sherlock, also breathing too fast, continues tugging at the jacket and vest.**

**JOHN: Sherlock.**

**Finally, Sherlock manages to roughly strip the jacket and vest off John’s arms.**

**JOHN: Sh-Sherlock!**

**Sherlock bends and skims the items as far away along the floor as he can, while John staggers at the vehemence with which his friend just ripped them off him.**

**JOHN (softly): Jesus.**

**He reaches up and pulls the earpiece from his ear, breathing heavily as the delayed shock begins to hit him. Sherlock turns and stares at him for a moment, then hurries back to pick up the pistol before racing towards the door through which Moriarty left. John’s knees buckle and he staggers towards the nearest support, the edge of one of the changing cubicles.**

**JOHN: Oh, Christ.**

**He turns and drops down into a squat, bracing his back against the cubicle’s edge while he blows out a long breath and tries to calm himself down. Sherlock comes back in, having apparently seen no sign of Moriarty outside. He starts to pace up and down near John, so hyper and distracted that he doesn’t even realize that he is scratching his head with the business end of a loaded and cocked pistol.**

**JOHN (breathlessly): Are you okay?**

“It is interesting.”

“What’s interesting, Mycroft?” John asked.

“My brother, as you know, has had a difficult childhood, and there are few in his life that he truly cares for. It’s interesting that you, in such a short amount of time, have managed to gain this from him, John Watson.”

**SHERLOCK (quick fire, still pacing and scratching his head with the gun): Me? Yeah, I’m fine, I’m fine. Fine.**

**He turns to John, wide-eyed and breathless.**

**SHERLOCK: That, er ... thing that you, er, that you did – that, um ... (he clears his throat) ... you offered to do. That was, um ... good.**

**JOHN (staring blankly ahead of himself): I’m glad no-one saw that.**

**Sherlock had temporarily lowered his hand long enough not to be risking accidentally shooting himself in the head, although he had terrible jitters as he held the gun down by his side. Now he lifts the gun again and rubs his chin while looking down at John in confusion.**

**SHERLOCK: Hmm?**

**JOHN (still not meeting his eyes): You, ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool. People might talk.**

“We weren’t before, but now that you’ve said that, it’s going to start,” Lestrade teased the shorter man.

John let his head fall into his hands, face red, as he waited for the taunting to begin. It did not. He looked up in confusion.

“Just not right now,” the DI said. “Later, in the precinct, with everyone around us.”

John opened his mouth to protest, but was cut off by Anderson, who said, “You can’t say anything; you’re the one who said it in the first place.”

John closed his mouth, and just settled for glaring at the three Yarders.

**Sherlock shrugs.**

**SHERLOCK: People do little else.**

**He looks down at John, then grins. John snorts laughter and then leans forward and prepares to stand up. But before he can move, the beam from a sniper’s laser begins to dance over his chest. John looks down at it and his face fills with horror.**

**JOHN (anguished): Oh ...**

**A door near the deep end of the pool opens and Jim comes through, clapping his hands together and turning to face our heroes.**

**JIM (cheerfully): Sorry, boys! I’m soooooo changeable!**

**John grimaces in disbelief. Sherlock keeps his back to Jim, looking up into the gallery to try and judge how many snipers there might be up there. It’s becoming clear that there are quite a few because there are at least two laser points hovering over John, and at least three more travellings over Sherlock’s body. Jim laughs and spreads his arms wide.**

**JIM: It is a weakness with me but, to be fair to myself, it is my only weakness.**

“What an egotistical jerk,” Molly snarled.

**He lowers his hands and puts them in his pockets. Sherlock turns his head and looks down at John, who lifts his own head to meet his gaze.**

**JIM: You can’t be allowed to continue. You just can’t. I would try to convince you but ... (he laughs, and his voice becomes higher-pitched again) ... everything I have to say has already crossed your mind!**

**Sherlock, who had looked away from John for a moment, now turns and looks down at him again, his face showing no emotion but his eyes screaming a silent request. John responds instantly with a tiny nod, giving him full permission to do whatever he deems necessary.**

“What are you guys saying? I don’t speak eyeball,” Anderson asked.

**SHERLOCK (turning to face Jim): Probably my answer has crossed yours.**

**He raises the pistol and aims it at him. Jim smiles confidently with no fear in his expression. Slowly Sherlock lowers the pistol downwards until it’s pointing directly at the bomb jacket. All three sets of eyes lock onto the jacket, John breathing heavily, Sherlock calm. Jim tilts his head, looking a little anxious for the first time. As Sherlock holds his hand steady, continuing to aim towards the jacket, Jim lifts his head and locks eyes with his nemesis. Sherlock gazes back at him and Jim begins to smile. Sherlock’s eyes narrow slightly.**

The screen turned black once again, though this time, like the ends of the past two episodes, it faded out rather than a sudden stop. _“And that’s the end!”_ the words on the screen read.

“What?” Anderson screeched. “How can that possibly be the end? That case wasn’t even over yet!”

_“Of course, it was! It’s called a cliff-hanger, Anderson. Can’t you tell?”_

“You’re very sassy, you know that?” he muttered back, crossing his arms like an indignant child.

_“This may come as a surprise to you, Mr. High and Mighty, but I’m not actually the one who dictates where an episode ends, only when I want to turn it off each time. I pause it, I play it, but what goes on and when it ends it either up to you guys, or the Higher Power.”_

“What’s that supposed to mean?” John questioned. He no longer felt awkward speaking to the television, as he had the past few times – replying to an empty room was strange, even if it answered back.

“And what’s the next episode – if that’s what you want to call it?” asked Anderson.

_“John, it means what it means. And Anderson, don’t be so pushy! We’ll start again soon! Just wait a moment, while I set it up! It may take a little while, so… just enjoy listening to this hold music.”_

As promised, as soon as the words disappeared, the room filled with generic – slightly annoying – hold music.

*******

**Footnotes:**

**(1) “Dear Jim”: Sherlock is mock-quoting a standard format from a very well-known TV show called “Jim’ll Fix It” which ran on the BBC from 1975 to 1994 and was hosted by Jimmy Savile. Viewers – mostly children – would write to the show and would always begin their letter, “Dear Jim, please can you fix it for me to ...” and would ask for their wildest dream to be met, e.g. to be a train driver for a day, or to meet their favourite athlete, or to work in a chocolate factory for a few hours. Nowadays we would all be writing in and saying, “Dear Jim, please can you fix it for me to meet Benedict Cumberbatch/Martin Freeman,” or “... to be the make-up girl on the next season of ‘Sherlock’,” or “... to be Steve Thompson’s beta reader and point out all his plot inconsistencies to him,” etc.**

**(2) “Westwood”: Jim is wearing a suit designed by Dame Vivienne Westwood, which will therefore have been very expensive, hence his mock-indignation at John ruffling it up. He directs the comment to Sherlock rather than to John because he knows that Sherlock is more likely to be appreciative of the expense of his clothing.**

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	26. 2x1 Part 1 - A Scandal in Belgravia

Though it only took a few minutes, by the time the hold music came to a stop, nearly everyone in the room was just about ready to claw their ears out. Even Mycroft, though he only showed it in the form of a twitching eyebrow.

**The episode picks up precisely where “The Great Game” left off, with Sherlock aiming the pistol down at the bomb jacket. As he and Jim Moriarty stare at each other, the introduction to The Bee Gees’ song “Stayin’ Alive” begins to play tinnily.**

“What’s going on?” Anderson asked.

Now knowing what it was and being out of the dangerous situation, John barely hid his laugh.

“What?” Anderson turned to him. John just shook his head.

**Sherlock and John look around, confused. Jim briefly closes his eyes and sighs in exasperation.**

**JIM: D’you mind if I get that?**

“It’s his ringtone?” Sally exclaimed.

“Of course,” John replied, “What else could it have been?” The only thing that he kept to himself, though, was the question of who had been the one on the other end of the line? Who had called Moriarty in the middle of that pool and changed his mind about killing them? Perhaps they’d find out in watching these videos like they had with every other unsolved mystery and unanswered question.

**SHERLOCK (nonchalantly): No, no, please. You’ve got the rest of your life.**

**Jim takes his phone from his pocket and answers it.**

**JIM: Hello? ... Yes, of course it is. What do you want?**

**He mouths ‘Sorry’ at Sherlock, who sarcastically mouths ‘Oh, fine’ back at him. Jim rolls his eyes as he listens to the phone, turning away from Sherlock for a moment, then he spins back around, his face full of fury.**

“Is it just me, or is this the most awkward bomb threat ever?” Anderson asked.

**JIM (loudly into phone): SAY THAT AGAIN!**

Everyone jumped, including John, even though he’d been there before. It just seemed so much louder when it was on that screen.

**Sherlock frowns.**

**JIM (venomously, into phone): Say that again, and know that if you’re lying to me, I will find you and I will ssssskin you.**

**He hisses out the ‘s’ of ‘skin.’ Sherlock briefly looks round at John.**

“If that isn’t already creepy enough to be heard, hearing Moriarty say it is the most terrifying thing ever.” Molly shuddered.

**JIM (into phone): Wait.**

“What did he say?” Anderson asked, squinting at the screen as if it would help him decode the words better somehow.

“He said “away”, like, telling the other person to hang up,” Sally said.

“No,” Molly countered. “He said, “wait”. He was telling the person on the other end of the line to hold.”

Sally grumbled, not believing her, but also not in the mood to argue further. Maybe she was afraid Mycroft would do something, or maybe she just knew that Molly had the ability to outwit her in any argument (if she wanted to, that is).

**Lowering the phone, he begins to walk forward. Sherlock looks at the bomb jacket and fretfully adjusts the grip on his pistol as Jim approaches. Jim stops at the jacket and gazes down at the floor thoughtfully before lifting his eyes to Sherlock.**

**JIM: Sorry. Wrong day to die.**

**SHERLOCK (casually): Oh. Did you get a better offer?**

“Obviously, he did.”

**Jim looks down at the phone, then turns and slowly starts to walk away.**

**JIM: You’ll be hearing from me, Sherlock.**

**He strolls back around the pool towards the door through which he originally came, lifting the phone to his ear again.**

“See? Molly was right,” John said. “He was telling the other person to hold while he said goodbye to Sherlock.”

Lestrade gave a chuckle. “Yeah. It’s like you weren’t even there!”

“He only has eyes for Sherlock,” Anderson whispered. He was ready to plot another theory, just not right now. They had more video to watch.

**JIM (into phone): So, if you have what you say you have, I will make you rich. If you don’t, I’ll make you into shoes.**

“Let me rephrase,” Molly said, “ _This_ is the scariest thing I’ve ever heard.”

**Reaching the door, he raises his free hand and clicks his fingers. Instantly all the lasers focused on Sherlock and John disappear. As Jim walks through the door and vanishes from sight, Sherlock looks around the gallery but apparently can see no sign of the retreating snipers. John sighs out a relieved breath.**

A collective sigh of relief echoed through the room, even from the people (person) who didn’t like Sherlock that much.

**JOHN: What happened there?**

**SHERLOCK: Someone changed his mind. The question is: who?**

**Elsewhere, a woman’s hand lowers her phone and switches it off.**

“So, we _are_ going to see who it was,” Molly said. She seemed excited, but at the same time, a little bit worried. Who had the power to change Jim Moriarty’s mind?

John stared at the screen for a long moment. “Isn’t that…?”

“Who?” Lestrade turned to him.

**Wearing a pair of black Brazilian knickers under a sheer lace robe, she walks from the landing into a bedroom, lashing a riding crop against the door jamb as she speaks.**

**IRENE: Well now. Have you been wicked, Your Highness?**

“A Scandal in Belgravia!” John suddenly announced. “That’s the case this is!”

**Inside the bedroom, a pair of naked legs can be seen lying on a bed. The person’s ankles appear to be tied to the foot of the bed.**

**SULTRY FEMALE VOICE: Yes, Miss Adler.**

“Who is that?”

“Obviously the member of the royal family that Sherlock was told to protect by his brother.” John sent a pointed look at Mycroft, who gave one in return.

“They’ve most likely kept it at this angle to protect the identity of this person. I suggest that you _don’t_ delve into the matter further,” he advised coldly.

Everyone looked down.

*****

**221B BAKER STREET. MAY 30. John is sitting at the dining table in the living room updating his blog on his laptop. Sherlock, wearing a red dressing gown over his shirt and trousers, is standing at the other side of the table drinking from a mug while leafing through a newspaper.**

**SHERLOCK: What are you typing?**

**JOHN: Blog.**

**SHERLOCK: About?**

**JOHN: Us.**

**SHERLOCK: You mean me.**

**JOHN: Why?**

**SHERLOCK: Well, you’re typing a lot.**

“Sherlock!” Mrs. Hudson scolded. “That’s very rude! Even though it’s true.”

**The doorbell rings.**

**SHERLOCK: Right then. (He walks towards the door.) So, what have we got?**

*****

**Over a period of many weeks, people are coming to 221B to consult with Sherlock. Each of them sits on a dining chair facing the fireplace as he or she speaks.**

**MAN: My wife seems to be spending a very long time at the office.**

**SHERLOCK: Boring.**

*****

**WOMAN: I think my husband might be having an affair.**

**SHERLOCK: Yes.**

“Why am I not surprised by his bluntness?” Lestrade asked with a sigh.

*****

**CREEPY GUY (holding a funeral urn): She’s not my real aunt. She’s been replaced – I know she has. I know human ash.**

**SHERLOCK (pointing to the door): Leave.**

*****

**BUSINESSMAN (sitting on the dining chair while two aides stand behind him): We are prepared to offer any sum of money you care to mention for the recovery of these files.**

**SHERLOCK: Boring.**

*****

**GEEKY YOUNG MAN (sitting on the dining chair while two other geeky young men stand behind him): We have this website. It explains the true meaning of comic books, ’cause people miss a lot of the themes.**

**Sherlock is already walking away, disinterested.**

**GEEKY YOUNG MAN: But then all the comic books started coming true.**

**Sherlock comes back.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh. Interesting.**

“Wait, they disappeared, and then reappeared. What happened? Is that really how he sees things that aren’t interesting to him? They’re just… not there?” Anderson’s brain was working overtime, hoping to figure it out. Was it really how Sherlock saw things? Was it just a technique that was used in the making of the “episodes” they were watching?

“Also, if you guys only take cases that are interesting, how do you keep up with the rent?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” John asked in return.

“Like, you must not get paid often, then.”

“Sherlock doesn’t charge for investigations. He only takes cases that are interesting and doesn’t care about the money. Why d’you think we’re always behind on rent?”

“But… he always comes when Lestrade calls.”

“Yeah,” Lestrade cut in. “I only go to Sherlock when I’m really stumped, that way, he knows it’s going to be interesting. Standing next to Sherlock, you can’t see it, but I really _am_ a good detective.” He seemed mildly annoyed with his former forensic scientist.

*****

**Later, John is sitting in his armchair and updating his blog again. He has titled the entry “The Geek Interpreter.” Sherlock leans over his shoulder.**

**SHERLOCK: ‘Geek Interpreter.’ What’s that?**

**JOHN: It’s the title.**

**SHERLOCK: What does it need a title for?**

**John smiles tightly. Sherlock straightens up and walks away.**

*****

**Later, they’re at the morgue at St Bartholomew’s Hospital. Sherlock is using his magnifier to look at a woman’s body lying on the table. John is standing at the other side of the table and Detective Inspector Lestrade is nearby.**

**SHERLOCK: Do people actually read your blog?**

**JOHN: Where d’you think our clients come from?**

“That’s true. There is no sign or anything out front, so how would people know where to find you and Sherlock? It can only be through the blog,” Molly said, to which John nodded in confirmation.

**SHERLOCK: I have a website.**

**JOHN: In which you enumerate two hundred and forty different types of tobacco ash. Nobody’s reading your website.**

**Sherlock straightens up and glares at him, then pouts adorably momentarily as John continues to look at the body.**

**JOHN: Right then: dyed blonde hair; no obvious cause of death except for these speckles, whatever they are.**

**He points at the tiny red marks on the woman’s body, but Sherlock has already turned and flounced out of the room.**

“You… you hurt his feelings,” Molly said, somewhat saddened.

“He’s the only one. To everyone else, he doesn’t have feelings,” Sally said. At this, though it was rude, no one could say anything, because she wasn’t wrong. To other people, Sherlock tended to close himself off and not express his inner feelings. He would, instead, keep his emotions hidden and defend himself from attack with his intellect. On a select few had ever seen him show his true self, especially as he was such a great actor in keeping it locked away.

*****

**Later, back at the flat, John is updating his blog again. Sherlock walks past eating a piece of toast. He stops and looks at the title for this entry.**

**SHERLOCK (with his mouth full): Oh, for God’s sake!**

**JOHN: What?**

**SHERLOCK: “The Speckled Blonde”?!**

“I kind of agree with him on this one, John. That was some surface-level stuff,” Sally drawled.

**John purses his lips as Sherlock walks away again.**

*****

**On another occasion, two little girls are sitting together on one of the dining chairs while Sherlock paces in front of the fireplace.**

**LITTLE GIRL: They wouldn’t let us see Granddad when he was dead. Is that ’cause he’d gone to heaven?**

**SHERLOCK: People don’t really go to heaven when they die. They’re taken to a special room and burned.**

**The two girls look at each other in distress.**

**JOHN (reprovingly): Sherlock ...**

*****

**Lestrade is leading Sherlock and John across some open ground.**

**LESTRADE: There was a plane crash in Dusseldorf yesterday. Everyone dead.**

**SHERLOCK: Suspected terrorist bomb. We do watch the news.**

**JOHN: You said, “Boring,” and turned over.**

“Of course, he changed the channel. Why would anything on the news interest Sherlock?” Molly asked.

“I don’t know. _You_ seem to know him best, don’t you?” Anderson replied cuttingly, though he wasn’t even being addressed. Why did he always have to answer questions even when they weren’t addressed to him?

**Lestrade leads them to a car that has its boot opened. There’s a body inside the boot. While Lestrade continues to speak, Sherlock looks all around the rear of the car.**

**LESTRADE (looking at a bag of evidence): Well, according to the flight details, this man was checked in on board. Inside his coat he’s got a stub from his boarding pass, napkins from the flight, even one of those special biscuits. Here’s his passport stamped in Berlin Airport. So, this man should have died in a plane crash in Germany yesterday but instead, he’s in a car boot in Southwark.**

**JOHN: Lucky escape!**

**LESTRADE (to Sherlock): Any ideas?**

“Yeah!” Lestrade said, “Talk to Mycroft!”

Anderson and Sally looked at him with furrowed eyebrows.

“Do you not know?”

Mycroft leered at the screen. “How could one have gone missing?”

**SHERLOCK (examining the man’s hand with his magnifier): Eight, so far.**

**He straightens up and looks at the body again, then frowns momentarily.**

**SHERLOCK: Okay, four ideas.**

**He turns to Lestrade and looks down at the passport and the ticket stub of the passenger, John Coniston, who was meant to be travelling on Flyaway Airways. Straightening up again, he gazes up into the sky.**

**SHERLOCK: Maybe two ideas.**

“Sherlock’s stumped. But you said talk to Mycroft. It must’ve been a setup!” Anderson declared.

John nearly snorted. Of course, with all of the clues handed out on a silver platter to him, of course he could piece it together. Anderson seemed so proud of himself – like he’d figured something out that had stumped Sherlock, but he didn’t really know what was going on. All in all, it was just another one of his crazy theories. “Everything’s a setup”! and the like.

**The shadow of a passenger jet passes overhead.**

*****

**Back at the flat, Sherlock – wearing heavy protective gloves and safety glasses and carrying a blowtorch in one hand and a glass container of green liquid in the other – has come to the living room table to look at John’s latest blog entry which is titled “Sherlock Holmes baffled.”**

**SHERLOCK (indignantly): No, no, no, don’t mention the unsolved ones.**

**JOHN: People want to know you’re human.**

**SHERLOCK: Why?**

**JOHN: ’Cause they’re interested.**

**SHERLOCK: No, they’re not. Why are they?**

“Is it just me, or do I detect a hint of interest in his voice?” Molly asked with a grin. She liked seeing Sherlock alive and happy – or, as happy as Sherlock could be. Read: interested.

**John smiles at his laptop.**

**JOHN: Look at that.**

**He’s looking at the hit counter on the front page of his blog. Its count is currently 1895.**

**JOHN: One thousand, eight hundred and ninety-five.**

**SHERLOCK: Sorry, what?**

**JOHN: I re-set that counter last night. This blog has had nearly two thousand hits in the last eight hours. This is your living, Sherlock – not two hundred and forty different types of tobacco ash.**

**SHERLOCK (sulkily): Two hundred and forty-three.**

**Firing up the blowtorch, he puts his safety glasses back on and heads back towards the kitchen.**

Lestrade looked around at Sherlock as if that would help him see what was going on. “What was he doing with that, John? Do you remember?”

“Just another one of his experiments. I don’t quite remember.”

“Maybe he was expanding is horizons about tobacco ash?” Molly suggested.

“Yeah, maybe.”

*****

**THEATRE. Sherlock and John are walking across the stage of a theatre while police officers mill around nearby.**

**SHERLOCK: So, what’s this one? “Belly Button Murders”?**

**JOHN: “The Navel Treatment”?**

**SHERLOCK: Eurgh!**

Anderson smiled at the screen. It tickled his theorist _and_ his detective heartstrings to see this new, domestic side of the detective whom he’d hated so much. Maybe, he wasn’t such a bad guy, after all. “ _That_ groan was just because John came up with a better title than him, but you can really tell that Sherlock is intrigued with the blog and is trying his best not to show it.”

**They walk backstage and meet up with Lestrade as they head for the exit.**

**LESTRADE: There’s a lot of press outside, guys.**

**SHERLOCK: Well, they won’t be interested in us.**

“he’s kidding, right?” Sally asked.

**LESTRADE: Yeah, that was before you were an internet phenomenon. A couple of them specifically wanted photographs of you two.**

**SHERLOCK (exasperated, glaring round at John): For God’s sake!**

**John quirks a smile as they walk on, then Sherlock spots some costumes on a rack just inside a nearby dressing room. He walks in and grabs a couple of items off the rack.**

**SHERLOCK: John.**

**He tosses a cap at him.**

“Oh no!” Mrs. Hudson said with a startling laugh. “That poor boy! To think it all started because he was trying to _hide_ his face.”

**SHERLOCK: Cover your face and walk fast.**

**LESTRADE: Still, it’s good for the public image, a big case like this.**

**SHERLOCK: I’m a private detective. The last thing I need is a public image.**

“He’s not wrong. Being famous makes it hard to go undercover, even if he’s supposed to be a “master of disguise”,” Sally had to admit it.

**He puts on the other hat that he had picked up – a deerstalker – and heads out the exit door pulling the hat as low as possible over his eyes and tugging up the collar of his coat. Outside, photographers start taking pictures of him and John.**

**Later, some of the pictures have been used in various newspapers, together with headlines such as “Hat-man and Robin: The web detectives”, “Sherlock Net ‘Tec”, “Sherlock & John: Blogger Detectives” and “Sherlock Holmes: net phenomenon”.**

**The last of these newspaper reports has caught the attention of Irene Adler, who slowly strokes her hand over the photograph of Sherlock, then runs her hand along her riding crop before laying it down on top of the photograph. She picks up her phone and dials.**

**IRENE (into phone): Hello. I think it’s time, don’t you?**

“Does she have Moriarty on speed dial or something?” Sally asked in exasperation.

“Seems like it.”

*****

**221B BAKER STREET. Mrs. Hudson picks up a mug and an almost empty bottle of milk from the mantelpiece and walks into the kitchen, tutting in exasperation at the mess in there. Putting the mug onto the table she takes the milk across to the fridge door and opens it, recoiling from the smell emanating from inside. Putting the milk into the fridge door she picks up the offending smelly item and drops it into the bin, then pulls open the salad crisper at the bottom and takes out a clear plastic bag from it. Peering at the contents, she cringes when she realizes what’s inside.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Ooh dear! Thumbs!**

“John!” Lestrade scolded, “Why did you warn her about those!”

John turned to Mrs. Hudson without answering Lestrade. “Why would you even go in there? You know that Sherlock doesn’t eat!”

“My question is, why didn’t you ever just get a second fridge just for food?”

John sighed. “The cost of a second fridge is not worth it, especially if that just means Sherlock thinks he has more room to refrigerate limbs. He’s like a cat sometimes; he doesn’t know when he’s invading your personal space, or, he knows it, but he just doesn’t care.”

**She drops the bag back into the salad crisper, then turns as an overweight man stumbles into the kitchen from the landing and stares at her wide-eyed and confused.**

**MAN: The door was ... the door was ...**

**He breathes heavily, then drops to the floor in a faint. Mrs. Hudson stares at him in terror for a moment, then calls out.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Boys! You’ve got another one!**

“It doesn’t even seem strange to you at this point, Mrs. Hudson. How long has it taken for you to get used to it?”

**She bends down to the unconscious man.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Ooh!**

“Is he even okay?” Sally asked.

“Yeah,” John replied, “He was fine. Just out of breath.”

The screen turned black again. It seemed like a short session than the last one, but everyone was hungry, and seeing as their captor had been busy earlier, setting up the next “season”, they hadn’t been able to supply food earlier. Snacks appeared on tables in front of them, as new words lit up the screen.

_“Sorry about the wait earlier; I had to get everything up and running, you know? Now, we’ve got it, and everything seems good to go! Also, good job, John! You guess this one, and yes, this case started all the way back at the pool, you just didn’t know it until now.”_

“How long is this one going to be?”

_“Another hour and twenty minutes, about, give or take.”_

Anderson groaned. “At this rate, we’ll never get through them. I mean, they’re interesting and all, but I _really_ want to find out what happened before he… fell. Like, what _really_ happened. And then we can all go back to our normal lives, right?”

_“Don’t be so impatient; we’ll get there. Besides, Sherlock’s death isn’t the end. You must see what happens after.”_

“I don’t really want to relive myself mourning the best friend I’ve ever had. Besides, it’ll stop when Mrs. Hudson and I are in the graveyard, anyway, isn’t that right? Because that’s where we were taken from.”

_“Wrong!”_

The viewers stared at the screen in confusion and just a hint of sorrow at the familiarity of the short and confident counter.

_“We will go past even what you have lived. There is more to this story than meets the eye!”_

“What do you mean by that?” John asked. “How can there be more? Sherlock’s gone. It ends with him.”

“Unless he’s not dead?” Anderson cried out in alarm.

The next words on the screen revealed nothing, only said _, “Well, John Watson is still around, and the world keeps on spinning. You’ll find out what it’s about when we get there. For now, enjoy your snacks and we’ll get right back into it.”_

And just like that, they were back at 221B Baker street with this new, mysterious client.

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	27. 2x1 Part 2 - A Scandal in Belgravia

**Later the man – whose name is Phil – has regained consciousness and is sitting on a dining chair facing the fireplace, staring rather blankly in front of himself. John is sitting on the sofa behind him and Sherlock is out of sight but presumably pacing.**

**SHERLOCK (sternly): Tell us from the start. Don’t be boring.**

“He hasn’t been boring so far, though, boys?” Mrs. Hudson asked. “Just came in and poof! On the ground.”

**Flashback to fourteen hours earlier. Somewhere out in the countryside, Phil’s car has broken down in a quiet country lane. He tries to start the engine for what is apparently the umpteenth time, but it just whines and refuses to start. Phil slams his hands angrily onto the steering wheel and gets out again to stare uselessly down under the open bonnet and tweak a few connections hopefully. He looks around but there is no sign of any other traffic. He looks into the field at the side of the road. The field stretches down to a river some distance away and a man wearing a red jacket is standing at the edge of a stream that leads down to the river. He has his back to the road. Phil peers at him for a moment but he’s too far away to have even noticed what’s happening on the road and eventually Phil gets back into the car again and tries once more to start the engine. It whines ferociously and then loudly backfires. Phil sighs then looks across towards the river and realizes that the man is now lying on the ground. He gets out of the car and stares.**

“That was strange,” Anderson said. “This wasn’t our case, because I don’t remember it.” He looked at Lestrade, who just shook his head.

“No, I sent Sherlock to Carter for this one.”

**PHIL (calling out): Hey! Are you okay?**

**The man doesn’t respond or react.**

**PHIL (starting to walk towards him): Excuse me! Are you all right?**

**As yet unseen by Phil, the man has fallen onto his back. There is a lot of blood underneath the back of his head.**

“Wait! What just happened?” Anderson asked. He was sitting straight up in his seat, now. “I don’t remember this case!”

*****

**Many hours later a crime scene has been set up at the riverside. A young police officer brings a mobile phone over to Detective Inspector Carter.**

**POLICE OFFICER: Sir. Phone call for you.**

**CARTER (taking the phone and speaking into it): Carter.**

**Lestrade is at the other end of the line, sitting in his car in Baker Street.**

**LESTRADE: Have you heard of Sherlock Holmes?**

**CARTER: Who?**

**LESTRADE: Well, you’re about to meet him now. This is your case. It’s entirely up to you. This is just friendly advice but give Sherlock five minutes on your crime scene and listen to everything that he has to say. And as far as possible, try not to punch him.**

“That’s some sound advice. Good thing Sherlock wasn’t actually there, though,” John said.

“What do you mean, he wasn’t actually there?” Anderson asked.

Lestrade was also confused. He’d been sitting right outside their apartment, how had he not seen Sherlock not _actually_ get into the cab with John?

**While Lestrade has been speaking, a car has driven up and stopped near the crime scene. Carter looks at the phone in bewilderment as Lestrade ends the call. The young police officer has been leaning into the car speaking to the person in the back seat.**

**POLICE OFFICER: Okay.**

**He turns to Carter as he approaches.**

**POLICE OFFICER: Sir, this gentleman says he needs to speak to you.**

**CARTER: Yes, I know. (He walks closer to the car.) Sherlock Holmes.**

**JOHN (getting out of the car and shaking Carter’s hand): John Watson. Are you set up for Wi-Fi?**

“That must’ve been so confusing!” Sally said with a snort and a chuckle. Despite herself, she was kind of starting to enjoy watching all their crimes and cases from a behind-the-scenes perspective, all-knowing and all-seeing. Here, they were on-par with Sherlock.

*****

**221B. Yawning, Sherlock wanders out from the hallway behind the kitchen and strolls into the kitchen wearing only a sheet wrapped around him.**

**JOHN (offscreen): You realize this is a tiny bit humiliating?**

“For you or for him?” Lestrade asked John. He was slightly amused.

“For me. He didn’t seem to care.”

**SHERLOCK (still yawning as he picks up a mug of tea from the side table): It’s okay, I’m fine.**

**He walks over to an open laptop on the work surface, picks it up and looks into the screen as he carries the laptop into the living room.**

**SHERLOCK: Now, show me to the stream.**

**JOHN (offscreen): I didn’t really mean for you.**

“You’re right, he really doesn’t seem to care,” Molly said, agreeing with John’s earlier statement.

**SHERLOCK: Look, this is a six.**

“What’s he on about now?”

**He sits down at the table in the living room and puts the laptop onto the table. Just then the doorbell rings but he ignores it.**

**SHERLOCK (adjusting the screen so that his face can be seen by the laptop’s camera): There’s no point in my leaving the flat for anything less than a seven. We agreed. Now, go back. Show me the grass.**

“Why in the world would you agree to that, John?” Lestrade asked.

“I didn’t!” he insisted, “Just watch!”

**John is at the crime scene and has walked down to the stream while Skypeing with Sherlock. He points the camera on his own laptop towards the grass at the stream’s edge and squats down.**

**JOHN: When did we agree that?**

**SHERLOCK: We agreed it yesterday. Stop!**

**He leans closer to the screen and looks at the mud on the ground.**

**SHERLOCK: Closer.**

**Instead of following his instructions, John swings the laptop around so that he can look into the camera.**

**JOHN: I wasn’t even at home yesterday. I was in Dublin.**

**SHERLOCK: Well, it’s hardly my fault you weren’t listening.**

There was a collective sigh of exasperation.

**The doorbell rings more insistently. Sherlock briefly looks round in the direction of the stairs.**

**SHERLOCK (angrily): SHUT UP!**

**JOHN: D’you just carry on talking when I’m away?**

“I bet he does, all the time.” Molly hid a laugh behind her hands.

**SHERLOCK (shrugging as he turns back to the camera): I don’t know. How often are you away? –**

“Most of the time, actually. Unlike him, I have a regularly scheduled job and errands to run,” John muttered.

“You mean your life _doesn’t_ revolve around him? I never knew,” Lestrade whispered to him with a cheeky grin.

**-Now, show me the car that backfired.**

**Sighing, John stands up and turns the laptop and its camera towards the road to show Phil’s car.**

**JOHN: It’s there.**

**SHERLOCK: That’s the one that made the noise, yes?**

**JOHN (swinging the camera back around to look into it): Yeah. And if you’re thinking gunshot, there wasn’t one. He wasn’t shot; he was killed by a single blow to the back of the head from a blunt instrument which then magically disappeared along with the killer. That’s gotta be an eight at least.**

“You still don’t know Sherlock well enough at this point, John. He’s already got it all figured out; he’s just not telling you.”

**Sherlock has leaned back in his chair and is running his finger back and forth over his top lip while he thinks. As John walks back towards the road, Carter follows along behind him.**

**CARTER: You’ve got two more minutes, then I want to know more about the driver.**

**SHERLOCK (waving his hand dismissively): Oh, forget him. He’s an idiot. Why else would he think himself a suspect?**

“He’s not wrong,” Lestrade said, “The driver did absolutely nothing, even if he thinks he did.”

**Carter catches up to John and leans over to look into the camera.**

**CARTER: I think he’s a suspect!**

“But-!”

“That’s just because he wasn’t there. _We_ know that the driver isn’t a suspect because we saw exactly what happened,” Lestrade said, cutting off Anderson from speaking.

**Sherlock leans forward angrily.**

**SHERLOCK: Pass me over.**

**JOHN: All right, but there’s a Mute button and I will use it.**

**He tilts the laptop at an angle that Sherlock’s not happy with.**

**SHERLOCK (irritated): Up a bit! I’m not talking from down ’ere!**

**John has had enough and offers the laptop to Carter.**

**JOHN: Okay, just take it, take it.**

**Carter takes the laptop as Sherlock starts talking at double the usual speed.**

**SHERLOCK (quick fire): Having driven to an isolated location and successfully committed a crime without a single witness, why would he then call the police and consult a detective? Fair play?**

**CARTER: He’s trying to be clever. It’s over-confidence.**

**SHERLOCK (sighing in exasperation): Did you see him? Morbidly obese, the undisguised halitosis of a single man living on his own, the right sleeve of an internet porn addict and the breathing pattern of an untreated heart condition. Low self-esteem, tiny IQ and a limited life expectancy – and you think he’s an audacious criminal mastermind?!**

**He turns around to John’s chair where – unseen by us until now – Phil has been sitting all the time.**

Despite herself, Sally burst out laughing. She couldn’t control herself for a near full ten seconds, gasping and snorting. Meanwhile, the scene continued to play out before them, her laughing mildly annoying to the others.

**SHERLOCK: Don’t worry – this is just stupid.**

**PHIL (anxiously): What did you say? Heart what?**

“If he wasn’t such a jerk, he could actually make some difference, letting people know about problems like that,” Molly said wistfully. Then again, if Sherlock was any different, she wouldn’t love him the way she does. It would just be too strange.

**Ignoring him, Sherlock turns back to the camera.**

**SHERLOCK: Go to the stream.**

**CARTER: What’s in the stream?**

“He’s getting annoyed, now. You can see it. Obviously, he didn’t take your warning to heart.” He looked at Lestrade.

**SHERLOCK: Go and see.**

**As Carter hands the laptop back to John, Mrs. Hudson comes up the stairs and into the living room followed by two men wearing suits.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Sherlock! You weren’t answering your doorbell!**

Everyone froze. “Mrs. Hudson, who was that?” Lestrade asked. The man looked rather ominous, but Mrs. Hudson didn’t look ruffled, so maybe it was okay.

**One of the men, Plummer, looks at his colleague while pointing with his thumb in the direction of the kitchen.**

**PLUMMER: His room’s through the back. Get him some clothes.**

**SHERLOCK: Who the hell are you?**

**PLUMMER: Sorry, Mr. Holmes. You’re coming with us.**

**He reaches forward to close down the lid of the laptop. John calls out in alarm.**

**JOHN: Sherlock, what’s going on? What’s happening?**

**As his screen goes black, he pokes at the keyboard frantically.**

**JOHN: I’ve lost him. I don’t know what ...**

Anderson sighed. “You literally just saw someone come in and close the laptop, didn’t you?” He raised an eyebrow at John. The man in question shrugged.

**The young police officer hurries over to him with a phone pressed to his ear.**

**POLICE OFFICER: Doctor Watson?**

**JOHN: Yeah.**

**POLICE OFFICER: It’s for you.**

**JOHN: Okay, thanks.**

**Still looking at the screen, he holds out his hand for the phone.**

**POLICE OFFICER: Uh, no, sir. The helicopter.**

**They both turn and look at the helicopter which is just coming in to land at the edge of the river.**

“Oh, John. What have you two gotten yourselves into this time?” Molly asked.

John just thrust his thumb in Mycroft’s direction. “Ask him.”

*****

**Back at 221B, Plummer’s colleague has collected a pile of clothes and a pair of shoes and puts them down onto the table in front of Sherlock, who raises his eyebrows and shrugs disinterestedly.**

**PLUMMER: Please, Mr. Holmes. Where you’re going, you’ll want to be dressed.**

**Sherlock turns his head, gazes at the man and begins to deduce the hell out of him:**

*****

**Looking at his clothes: Suit £700**

**Glancing at his breast pocket and the area where a pistol would be if Plummer was carrying one: Unarmed**

**Thumbnail: Manicured**

**Forehead: Office worker**

**The way his hands are folded in front of him: Right-handed**

**Looking down to his shoes: Indoor worker**

**Seeing some wiry hairs on the cuff of his trouser leg, and imagining a high-pitched yapping sound: Small dog**

**Seeing a mark higher up the same trouser leg and imagining two yapping sounds: Two small dogs**

**Seeing more hairs on the other trouser leg and imagining more yapping: Three small dogs**

“It’s so fascinating to see this! I really hope we get more!” Anderson said.

“I’m sure we will. I have to admit, seeing Holmes from this perspective – though it doesn’t make him any less annoying – I can see where he’s coming from.” Sally was stubborn and struggled through that sentence, but she still said it. That was progress, at least.

*****

**Back at the crime scene, the helicopter takes off.**

**At 221B, Sherlock smiles smugly and looks up into Plummer’s face.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, I know exactly where I’m going.**

Lestrade leaned back in his seat. “I mean, with those deductions, it’s quite clear where he’s going. Or maybe that’s just because I already know about this case.”

*****

**Sometime later, sitting beside the pilot, John frowns and looks down as the helicopter flies over London. As it approaches Buckingham Palace the pilot begins to speak into his comms.**

*****

**Not long afterwards, John has been shown into an enormous ornate hall with massive crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. He looks around for a moment, then follows his escort who gestures him to a nearby room before walking away. John stops in the doorway. On a small round table in the middle of the room is the pile of clothes and shoes which had been put down in front of Sherlock earlier.**

“Did he _seriously_ not get dressed before going to the _Buckingham Palace_? Is he mad?” Sally asked. Then she paused, thinking to herself with a look of realization, but didn’t say anything.

Anderson looked at her. “Yes.”

**There is a sofa either side of the table and sitting on the left-hand one is Sherlock, still wrapped in his sheet. He calmly looks across to John. John holds out his hands in a “What the hell?!” gesture. Sherlock shrugs disinterestedly and looks away again. Nodding in a resigned way, John walks slowly into the room, then sits down on the sofa beside his friend. He gazes in front of himself for a moment, chewing back a giggle, looks around the room again and then looks at Sherlock, peering closely at his sheet and particularly the section wrapped around his backside. He turns his head away again.**

“What are you doing, John?” Sally asked, peering at him strangely.

**JOHN: Are you wearing any pants?**

**SHERLOCK: No.**

**JOHN: Okay.**

Molly is the only one to burst out laughing at this, though it’s over pretty quickly.

**He sighs quietly. A moment later Sherlock turns and looks at him just as John also turns to look. Their eyes meet and they promptly burst out laughing.**

At that, everyone froze again, stunned. “You got him to laugh? You _actually_ made Sherlock _Bloody_ Holmes _laugh_?” Lestrade cried out in alarm. He let a bark of laughter pass his lips, but it was over in a split second. Quickly afterward came an admirable breath. “Wow.”

“I’m just surprised that he _can_ laugh. I thought he had no emotions?” Sally asked.

Mycroft sent her a pointed look, mainly because of her misunderstanding of Sherlock’s self-diagnosed sociopathic status, though perhaps – maybe – it was in defence of his younger sibling. “Of course my brother has emotions, but with his condition, obviously he cannot express them as you or I can.”

**JOHN (gesturing around the building): At Buckingham Palace, fine. (He tries to get himself under control.) Oh, I’m seriously fighting an impulse to steal an ashtray.**

**Sherlock chuckles again.**

**JOHN: What are we doing here, Sherlock? Seriously, what?**

**SHERLOCK (still smiling): I don’t know.**

**JOHN: Here to see the Queen?**

**At that moment Mycroft walks in from the next room.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, apparently yes.**

**John cracks up again and Sherlock promptly joins in. The two of them continue to giggle as Mycroft looks at them in exasperation.**

“Where did _this_ come from?” Molly demanded, utterly confused, as were all of the others.

Anderson was on the edge of his seat. “He’s laughing – making jokes. Is this even the same guy?”

Lestrade leaned towards Mycroft with a sly grin on his face. “I take it that you didn’t find his joke amusing?”

**MYCROFT: Just once, can you two behave like grown-ups?**

**JOHN: We solve crimes, I blog about it and he forgets his pants, so I wouldn’t hold out too much hope.**

**Sherlock looks up at his brother as he walks into the room, all humour gone from his face.**

**SHERLOCK: I was in the middle of a case, Mycroft.**

**MYCROFT: What, the hiker and the backfire? I glanced at the police report. Bit obvious, surely?**

**SHERLOCK: Transparent.**

“Well, that was easy, then,” Lestrade said.

**John looks startled.**

“How are you still startled by this?” Anderson whispered.

**MYCROFT: Time to move on, then.**

**He bends down and picks up the clothes and shoes from the table, turning to offer them to Sherlock. His brother gazes at them uninterestedly. Mycroft sighs.**

**MYCROFT: We are in Buckingham Palace, the very heart of the British nation. (Sternly) Sherlock Holmes put your trousers on.**

**SHERLOCK (shrugging): What for?**

**MYCROFT: Your client.**

**SHERLOCK (standing up): And my client is?**

“Just be glad that he managed to keep the sheet around himself for so long,” Lestrade muttered. “And that the sheet is so large in the first place.”

**EQUERRY: Illustrious ...**

**Sherlock turns to look at the man who has just walked into the room.**

**EQUERRY: ... in the extreme.**

**John stands up respectfully.**

**EQUERRY: And remaining – I have to inform you – entirely anonymous.**

“You should know by now that he doesn’t do anonymous clients, Mycroft,” Lestrade whispered.

**He looks across to Mycroft.**

**EQUERRY: Mycroft!**

**MYCROFT: Harry.**

**Smiling, he walks over and shakes the equerry’s hand.**

**MYCROFT: May I just apologize for the state of my little brother?**

**EQUERRY: Full-time occupation, I imagine.**

**Sherlock scowls.**

**EQUERRY: And this must be Doctor John Watson, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers.**

**JOHN: Hello, yes.**

**They shake hands.**

**EQUERRY: My employer is a tremendous fan of your blog.**

**JOHN (looking startled): Your employer?**

**EQUERRY: Particularly enjoyed the one about the aluminum crutch.**

“We never saw that one on here,” Anderson said.

“Yes, you’re right. I guess not all of the cases would be in these videos,” Sally mused with a shrug.

**JOHN: Thank you!**

**He looks over at Sherlock, clearing his throat smugly.**

**EQUERRY (walking closer to Sherlock): And Mr. Holmes the younger. You look taller in your photographs.**

**SHERLOCK: I take the precaution of a good coat and a short friend.**

A few people choked on their laughs at John’s expense.

**He walks abruptly past John, forcing him to step back, and approaches his brother.**

**SHERLOCK: Mycroft, I don’t do anonymous clients. I’m used to mystery at one end of my cases. Both ends is too much work.**

**He looks to the equerry.**

**SHERLOCK: Good morning.**

**He starts to walk out of the room but Mycroft steps onto the trailing edge of the sheet behind him. Sherlock’s impetus carries him forward while pulling the sheet off his body. He stops and grabs at it before he’s completely naked and tries to tug it back around himself, looking furious.**

“Mycroft, you realize that could’ve gone _very wrong_ , don’t you?” Lestrade asked, still startled by what had just happened.

“Yes, of course, I do,” Mycroft said, slightly aggravated by being treated like a child.

“Then why did you do it?” His question was only met with a sharp glare.

Meanwhile, Sally who still – secretly – harboured feelings for the detective, and Molly stared at his naked chest in admiration.

**MYCROFT: This is a matter of national importance. Grow up.**

**With his back still turned to his brother, Sherlock speaks through gritted teeth.**

**SHERLOCK: Get off my sheet!**

**MYCROFT: Or what?**

**SHERLOCK: Or I’ll just walk away.**

**MYCROFT: I’ll let you.**

**JOHN: Boys, please. Not here.**

“Thank you! John!” Anderson cried aloud.

**SHERLOCK (almost incandescent with rage): Who. Is. My. Client?**

**MYCROFT: Take a look at where you’re standing and make a deduction. You are to be engaged by the highest in the land. Now for God’s sake ...**

**He breaks off and glances at the equerry briefly, trying to get his anger under control before he turns back to his brother again.**

**MYCROFT (exasperated): ... put your clothes on!**

**Sherlock closes his eyes furiously, then pulls in a sharp breath.**

“Is he going to do it?” Anderson asked.

“Obviously,” John replied. “Sherlock lost that little spat of theirs.”

*****

**Sometime later, Sherlock has dressed and is sitting on the sofa beside John. Mycroft and the equerry sit on the opposite sofa. Mycroft is pouring tea from a teapot. Following the old-fashioned superstition that only one person in the household – usually the mother of the family – should pour the tea, and so any person pouring tea is “being mother,” he looks at the equerry and smiles.**

“How is it that both of them have these gifts of deduction but they turned out so different? At least Mycroft can pretend to be human, though, on the inside, I’m starting to think he’s less so.” Anderson immediately ducked his head upon saying that, realizing that the man in question could hear him.

**MYCROFT: I’ll be mother.**

“Though it’s a common phrase, I don’t think I ever expected those words to come out of your mouth,” Lestrade admitted quietly.

**SHERLOCK (pointedly): And there is a whole childhood in a nutshell.**

“Now, I’m curious. What was your childhood like?”

“No business of yours, that’s what,” Mycroft replied pointedly to Anderson’s question.

Anderson looked down, slightly chastised, but he was still immensely curious. Now that he was seeing past the detective’s tough, rude exterior, he wanted to know more about the man, he had his theories, sure, but if he actually saw how the man grew up, maybe then he could really begin to understand him. It _was_ partially his fault that Sherlock died, and he’d never forgive himself for that, but maybe, just maybe, learning all he could about that man would make up for that. It felt like a duty that he would never be able to fulfill, it seemed, until they were taken to watch these videos.

**Mycroft glowers at him, then puts down the teapot. The equerry looks at Sherlock.**

**EQUERRY: My employer has a problem.**

**MYCROFT: A matter has come to light of an extremely delicate and potentially criminal nature, and in this hour of need, dear brother, your name has arisen.**

**SHERLOCK: Why? You have a police force of sorts, even a marginally Secret Service. Why come to me?**

**EQUERRY: People do come to you for help, don’t they, Mr. Holmes?**

**SHERLOCK: Not, to date, anyone with a Navy.**

**MYCROFT: This is a matter of the highest security, and therefore of trust.**

“And you trust a retired army doctor and your little brother?” Molly asked with a raised eyebrow.

**JOHN: You don’t trust your own Secret Service?**

“Of course, he shouldn’t!” Mrs. Hudson said. “All those men do is spy on other people for money! They are very easily bought!”

**MYCROFT: Naturally not. They all spy on people for money.**

"Wow. How did Mrs. Hudson think the same thing as Mycroft?"

"It's true, isn't it?" John asked as Mycroft glared at Anderson.

**John bites back a smile.**

**EQUERRY: I do think we have a timetable.**

**MYCROFT: Yes, of course. Um ...**

**He opens his briefcase, takes out a glossy photograph and hands it to Sherlock who looks at the picture of Irene Adler.**

**MYCROFT: What do you know about this woman?**

**SHERLOCK: Nothing whatsoever.**

**MYCROFT: Then you should be paying more attention.**

**As he continues to speak, we switch between the palace and footage of Irene who is being driven through London. Her phone trills a text alert and she looks at the message which reads “I’m sending you a treat”.**

“Was that from Moriarty, do you think?”

Sally looked at Anderson. “Pretty sure, but the real question is, what d'you think he means by it?”

**MYCROFT: She’s been at the centre of two political scandals in the last year, and recently ended the marriage of a prominent novelist by having an affair with both participants separately.**

**SHERLOCK: You know I don’t concern myself with trivia. Who is she?**

**MYCROFT: Irene Adler, professionally known as The Woman.**

**Arriving at an elegant house in London, Irene’s female chauffeur opens the car door for her and then precedes her into the house. Irene’s phone shows that it is downloading an image as she walks indoors.**

“Why do these videos have to do that?” Anderson asked.

“Do what?” Sally replied.

“Show us stuff, but also _not_ show us stuff. Do you know what I mean?”

**JOHN: Professionally?**

**MYCROFT: There are many names for what she does. She prefers ‘dominatrix.’**

**SHERLOCK (thoughtfully): Dominatrix.**

**MYCROFT: Don’t be alarmed. It’s to do with sex.**

**SHERLOCK: Sex doesn’t alarm me.**

**MYCROFT (smiling snidely at him): How would you know?**

“Ooo!” Anderson said, “That one must’ve stung!”

**Sherlock raises his head and stares at his brother.**

**MYCROFT: She provides – shall we say – recreational scolding for those who enjoy that sort of thing and are prepared to pay for it. (He takes more photographs from his briefcase and hands them to Sherlock.) These are all from her website.**

**Sherlock takes the photographs and leafs through them. They are professional-looking publicity shots for her “services”. At the same time, walking up the stairs at her house, Irene looks down at her phone and flicks through shots which someone has taken of Sherlock wrapped in his sheet as he left 221B and got into Plummer’s car.**

“Oh. So… they weren’t from Moriarty? Just a weird photographer?”

“Maybe she gets her photos from him?” Sally suggested.

**SHERLOCK: And I assume this Adler woman has some compromising photographs.**

“You’d be right to assume that,” John muttered to the screen.

**EQUERRY: You’re very quick, Mr. Holmes.**

**SHERLOCK: Hardly a difficult deduction. Photographs of whom?**

**EQUERRY: A person of significance to my employer. We’d prefer not to say any more at this time.**

**Glaring angrily at him, Sherlock puts the photographs down on the table.**

**JOHN: You can’t tell us anything?**

“And you both immediately look to Mycroft because you know that _he_ is the weak one in this duo. Wow,” Lestrade said to John, who just shrugged.

**MYCROFT: I can tell you it’s a young person.**

**John drinks from his teacup.**

**MYCROFT: A young female person.**

**John’s eyes widen. Sherlock smirks.**

“What?” Anderson asked. “I don’t think I get the joke here. Is there a joke here? Should I be understanding something?”

**SHERLOCK: How many photographs?**

“How would they know how many?” Sally asked.

**MYCROFT: A considerable number, apparently.**

**SHERLOCK: Do Miss Adler and this young female person appear in these photographs together?**

“It seems that would be the most apparent answer, Sherlock.

**MYCROFT: Yes, they do.**

**SHERLOCK: And I assume in a number of compromising scenarios.**

“What does he think they are, paparazzi shots? They didn’t go out to a hotdog stand!” Sally all but shouted at the screen.

John sent her a look. “You can’t see what he’s doing? He’s just trying to ween information out of his brother because he can.”

**MYCROFT: An imaginative range, we are assured.**

**Without looking over at him, Sherlock realizes that John is staring blankly at Mycroft with his teacup still half raised.**

**SHERLOCK: John, you might want to put that cup back in your saucer now.**

**John quickly does as advised.**

**EQUERRY: Can you help us, Mr. Holmes?**

**SHERLOCK: How?**

**EQUERRY: Will you take the case?**

**SHERLOCK: What case? Pay her, now and in full. As Miss Adler remarks in her masthead, “Know when you are beaten.”**

“He actually read it and cares enough to quote it?” Molly seemed quite annoyed and had a feeling that she wouldn’t like this woman very much. She’d never met her, but the Christmas [arty scenario was odd enough. She wasn’t looking forward to watching Sherlock and her first meeting.

**He turns and reaches for his overcoat which is draped on the back of the sofa.**

**MYCROFT: She doesn’t want anything.**

**Sherlock turns back towards him.**

**MYCROFT: She got in touch, she informed us that the photographs existed, she indicated that she had no intention to use them to extort either money or favour.**

**SHERLOCK (finally interested for the first time): Oh, a power play. A power play with the most powerful family in Britain. Now that is a dominatrix. Ooh, this is getting rather fun, isn’t it?**

“That’s kind of the wrong attitude to have for a sensitive case like this…” Anderson mumbled.

**JOHN: Sherlock ...**

**SHERLOCK: Hmm.**

**He turns around and reaches for his coat again.**

**SHERLOCK: Where is she?**

**MYCROFT: Uh, in London currently. She’s staying ...**

**Not waiting for him to finish, Sherlock picks up his coat, stands and starts to walk away.**

**SHERLOCK: Text me the details. I’ll be in touch by the end of the day.**

**The other three men get to their feet.**

**EQUERRY: Do you really think you’ll have news by then?**

**SHERLOCK (turning back to him): No, I think I’ll have the photographs.**

“Unfortunately, not,” John said. “His first time being beaten by someone.”

“Poor Sherlock,” Mrs. Hudson said, shaking her head sadly. She’d seen the aftermath, but the cause – she was interested to watch.

**EQUERRY: One can only hope you’re as good as you seem to think.**

**Sherlock looks at him sharply, apparently indignant that he should doubt him. We see a stream of deductions as Sherlock glances down his body.**

*****

**Dog Lover**

**Public School**

**Horse Rider**

**Early Riser**

**Left Side of Bed**

*****

**Sherlock’s eyes begin to rise up the man’s body again as his deductions continue.**

*****

**Non-Smoker**

**Father**

**Half Welsh**

**Keen Reader**

**Tea Drinker**

“Those are all too fast, now!”

“I’m assuming that’s the speed he usually sees things in. It’s just slowed down for some cases so that we can actually read what’s going on,” John explained.

“Well, then I guess there _isn’t_ a chance to still catch up if _that’s_ the real speed he sees things.” Anderson looked downcast.

*****

**Sherlock looks across to Mycroft.**

**SHERLOCK: I’ll need some equipment, of course.**

**MYCROFT: Anything you require. I’ll have it sent to ...**

**SHERLOCK (interrupting): Can I have a box of matches?**

“What in the world would he need _matches_ for?”

“He’s just proving a point, I think,” John replied to Anderson’s question.

**He’s looking at the equerry as he speaks.**

**EQUERRY: I’m sorry?**

**SHERLOCK: Or your cigarette lighter. Either will do.**

**He holds out his hand expectantly.**

**EQUERRY: I don’t smoke.**

**SHERLOCK: No, I know you don’t, but your employer does.**

**After a pause during which John frowns in puzzlement, the equerry reaches into his pocket and takes out a lighter which he hands to Sherlock.**

**EQUERRY: We have kept a lot of people successfully in the dark about this little fact, Mr. Holmes.**

“Wait. The queen _does_ smoke? I knew it!”

Mycroft looked mildly annoyed by this sudden development. Not only did five other people know about the case, but they also knew about the smoking. How… aggravating.

**SHERLOCK: I’m not the Commonwealth.**

**Taking the lighter and putting it into his trouser pocket, he turns away.**

**JOHN (to the equerry): And that’s as modest as he gets. Pleasure to meet you.**

“You know him so well, John! Wow!” Lestrade was being sarcastic at this point, though he also looked annoyed.

**He follows after Sherlock as he strolls out of the room.**

**SHERLOCK (in an Estuary English accent, not sounding the ‘t’ in the word): Laters!**

**John throws an apologetic glance over his shoulder as they leave.**

The screen turned black again, and Anderson, of course, took this as a sign to start talking. “Well, _that_ was interesting!” He let out a long breath. “There were so many shocking things in that segment!”

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	28. 2x1 Part 3 - A Scandal in Belgravia

“Really,” Lestrade said, turning to Anderson, “Like what?” He knew, of course, but he wanted to hear it from the horse’s mouth, so to speak.

“Well… I- Um… I mean…” Anderson stuttered his reply. “Sherlock was laughing!” he finally came up with.

A few amused grins appeared, Lestrade’s included. “Yes, I think we already mentioned that. I guess John just has this way about him. Makes people laugh.”

“And… and…” Anderson was struggling, “Mycroft works for the Queen, who hired Sherlock to solve a case! We weren’t supposed to know about that!” he suddenly added, eyes wide as he looked over at Mycroft.

Lestrade sighed. The man looked as if the elder Holmes would just make him vanish right then and there! He wouldn’t do that. Maybe. Most he’d do would be to have them sign an NDA and be done with it. He’d probably have them sign one for this whole experience, seeing as most of the things they were witnessing were confidential.

**Not long afterwards, the boys are in a taxi.**

**JOHN: Okay, the smoking. How did you know?**

**Sherlock smiles briefly, then shakes his head.**

**SHERLOCK: The evidence was right under your nose, John. As ever, you see but do not observe.**

**JOHN: Observe what?**

**Sherlock reaches into his coat.**

**SHERLOCK: The ashtray.**

“He actually stole an ashtray?” Molly asked in astonishment.

“Well… I _did_ say I wanted one, didn’t I? I was joking, of course, but I guess I should’ve known better than to joke around with Sherlock.” John rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish grin on his lips.

**He pulls out a glass ashtray. John laughs with delight as Sherlock tosses the ashtray into the air, catches it and tucks it back into his coat, chuckling. They are both unaware that someone – presumably in a car driving alongside theirs – is photographing them.**

**Sometime later, the photos have been sent to Irene’s phone. Sitting on the side of her bed, she looks through them, smiling, then calls out.**

“That’s not creepy at all…” Sally muttered under her breath.

“No kidding,” Anderson agreed.

**IRENE: Kate!**

**Kate, the woman who drove her earlier, comes into the room.**

“And who’s that, John? Her assistant?” Lestrade asked.

“Don’t know. I never found out.”

“She was her driver from earlier!” Molly budded in. “Makes sense that she’s an assistant.”

**IRENE: We’re going to have a visitor. I’ll need a bit of time to get ready.**

**She walks over to her dressing table while Kate bends down to pick up a discarded stocking from the floor.**

**KATE: A long time?**

**IRENE: Ages!**

*****

**Later, wearing a see-through negligee over her knickers and stockings, Irene opens the doors to her enormous walk-in wardrobe and walks inside, running her fingers along her outfits as she decides what to wear.**

“Whoa!” The men – except Mycroft, who watched the screen distastefully – averted their eyes. Molly and Mrs. Hudson were looking at her extensive closet, wondering which outfit she would wear, while Sally sneered.

She – unlike the others, wasn’t thinking about her looks or her clothes, but instead, about who their visitor was. Obviously, it was Sherlock, and she was planning to make him uncomfortable. A secret grin never made it to the surface as a brief notion passed through her mind about how appealing it would be to see the grandiose detective feeling uncomfortable for once.

*****

**At 221B, John is sitting at the table in the kitchen while Sherlock hurls clothes around his bedroom. With the door open, the noise is distracting and finally John looks up from what he’s reading.**

**JOHN: What are you doing?**

**SHERLOCK: Going into battle, John. I need the right armour.**

Laughter rippled through the room. “They’re both getting dressed at the same time! Isn’t that sweet?” Sally asked sarcastically. Then, she cried dramatically, “Those two are meant for each other!”

John snorted. “If not for one thing…” but he left it at that, even when confused looks were thrown his way.

**He walks into view, wearing a large yellow hi-vis jacket.**

**SHERLOCK: No.**

**He rips it off again.**

“Well, duh! What would that solve?” Lestrade asked.

*****

**At her house, Irene is looking at herself in a full-length mirror, turning side-on to look at the glittery dark purple cocktail dress she’s wearing.**

**IRENE: Nah.**

**KATE (leaning against the door jamb): Works for me.**

**IRENE: Everything works on you.**

*****

**TAXI. Sherlock and John are on the move. Sherlock is wearing his usual coat and scarf.**

“And then he just goes in the same old clothes as usual!” Sally said, aggravated. “What was the point of all that?”

**JOHN: So, what’s the plan?**

**SHERLOCK: We know her address.**

**JOHN: What, just ring her doorbell?**

**SHERLOCK: Exactly.**

**He calls out to the cab driver.**

**SHERLOCK: Just here, please.**

**JOHN: You didn’t even change your clothes.**

“See? John knows what I’m talking about!” Sally pointed out.

John glared. “I’m still upset at you for the few _thousand_ comments you’ve made about Sherlock. _Don’t_ rope me into to anything you have to say - thank you very much.”

**SHERLOCK: Then it’s time to add a splash of colour.**

“What colour?” Mrs. Hudson asked. “Sherlock didn’t take anything else with him? Oh, wait…” She paused, thinking back to that day. “Oh, dear.”

*****

**At her house, Irene is doing the same thing as Kate carefully applies make-up to her eyes.**

*****

**Nearby, the boys have got out of the taxi and Sherlock leads John down a narrow street, pulling his scarf off as he goes. Eventually, he stops and turns around to face John.**

**JOHN: Are we here?**

**SHERLOCK: Two streets away, but this’ll do.**

**JOHN: For what?**

**SHERLOCK (gesturing to his own left cheek): Punch me in the face.**

“Gladly,” Sally joked quietly to herself.

Lestrade chuckled at the confused look on screen-John’s face, though instantly fell silent upon hearing her comment. From anyone else, it would’ve been funny, but from her, he wasn’t amused. “You’re lucky no one else heard that, Donovan,” he growled lowly. “Your job has already been threatened twice.”

*****

**Kate runs her thumb over Irene’s mouth, wondering what colour lipstick to apply.**

**KATE: Shade?**

**Irene smiles.**

**IRENE: Blood.**

*****

**JOHN: Punch you?**

**SHERLOCK: Yes. Punch me, in the face. (He gestures to his left cheek again.) Didn’t you hear me?**

**JOHN: I always hear ‘punch me in the face’ when you’re speaking, but it’s usually subtext.**

This time, nearly everyone broke out into peals of laughter, and at least Donovan was wise enough not to question the difference between her statement and John’s.

**SHERLOCK (exasperated): Oh, for God’s sake.**

**He punches John in the face. As John grunts in pain and reels from the blow, Sherlock shakes out his hand and then blows out a breath, bracing himself. John straightens up and immediately punches Sherlock.**

“John, I thought you were left-handed, dear?” Mrs. Hudson asked, tilting a single eyebrow up on her face.

John shrugged. “He wanted me to punch that cheek, so I punched that cheek.”

**JOHN: Ow!**

**Turning away as Sherlock picks himself up, he flexes his hand painfully and examines his knuckles. Sherlock finally straightens up, holding his fingers to the cut on his cheek.**

**SHERLOCK: Thank you. That was – that was ...**

**Still fighting right-handed, John punches him in the stomach, sending him crashing to the ground.**

“Did you just tackle him to the ground?” Molly asked, watching the screen with quick, worried eyes. Unfortunately, the scene changed just as quickly.

*****

**Slowly Kate paints blood-red lipstick onto Irene’s mouth.**

*****

**In the street, Sherlock is doubled over with John on his back half–strangling him. John’s face is contorted with pent-up anger and frustration, and Sherlock is struggling to pull his hands off him.**

“Why are you so angry, John? He just asked you to punch him, and you did. What’s with the choking?” Anderson looked at John, who rightfully went red with embarrassment.

“Well… um…”

**SHERLOCK (half-choking): Okay! I think we’re done now, John.**

**JOHN (savagely): You wanna remember, Sherlock: I was a soldier. I killed people.**

**SHERLOCK: You were a doctor!**

**JOHN: I had bad days!**

“‘Bad days’? John, seriously? ‘Bad days’?”

“Yeah…”

*****

**Kate finishes painting Irene’s lips.**

**KATE: What are you gonna wear?**

**IRENE: My battle dress.**

**KATE: Ooh! Lucky boy!**

“Battle dress?” Molly asked in confusion.

They all looked at John, who went a deeper shade of red suddenly.

“What? Was it really revealing or something?” Sally joked.

John choked on his spit but didn’t answer. Curiosity took hold, and several pairs of eyes focused on the telly like never before.

**Downstairs, the intercom buzzes. Kate goes downstairs and activates it, looking at the camera footage from the front door.**

**KATE (into intercom): Hello?**

**Sherlock stares into the camera wide-eyed and flustered. He talks in an anxious, tearful, posh voice and keeps looking around behind him as he speaks.**

“He’s a good actor, I’ll give him that. If I didn’t already know who he was, I would’ve been convinced,” Sally grudgingly admitted. Anderson just nodded dumbly, though he was thoroughly entertained by Sherlock’s performance.

**SHERLOCK: Ooh! Um, sorry to disturb you. Um, I’ve just been attacked, um, and, um, I think they ... they took my wallet and, um, and my phone. Umm, please could you help me?**

**Kate has been holding back her laughter while listening to him.**

**KATE: I can phone the police if you want.**

**SHERLOCK (tearfully): Thank you, thank you! Could you, please?**

**He takes a step back and the camera now shows that his shirt is buttoned right up to the top and there is a piece of white plastic under the collar.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, would you ... would you mind if I just waited here, just until they come? Thank you. Thank you so much.**

“Though… he is laying in on a little thick. He only has one bruise from John’s punch, and maybe marks from the chokehold, but it doesn’t look like he’s been attacked,” Sally said.

Despite his anger, Lestrade had to agree with her.

**Holding a handkerchief to his cheek, he starts to grizzle pathetically. Grinning, Kate buzzes him in. Sherlock comes in, followed by John.**

**SHERLOCK (still in character): Thank you. (He briefly looks around the large entrance hall.) Er, ooh!**

**JOHN (closing the door): I – I saw it all happen. It’s okay, I’m a doctor.**

“Where was John hiding in the intercom?”

“I was just behind him,” John answered.

**Kate nods.**

**JOHN: Now, have you got a first aid kit?**

**KATE: In the kitchen.**

**She gestures for Sherlock to go into the front room.**

**KATE: Please.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh! Thank you!**

**JOHN: Thank you. (He follows Kate towards the kitchen.)**

*****

**Very shortly afterwards Sherlock has taken off his coat and is sitting on a sofa in the elegant sitting room and looking around. Hearing footsteps approaching, he sits up a little and holds his handkerchief to his cheek.**

**IRENE (offscreen): Hello. Sorry to hear that you’ve been hurt. I don’t think Kate caught your name.**

**SHERLOCK (in his posh tremulous voice): I’m so sorry. I’m ...**

**He turns and looks at Irene as she walks into view and stops at the doorway. His voice fails him when he realizes that, with the exception of high-heeled shoes, she is stark naked. His jaw drops a little.**

Eyes averted again, and this time, all faces turned blood red. Mycroft just seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the look on his brother’s face.

**IRENE: Oh, it’s always hard to remember an alias when you’ve had a fright, isn’t it?**

“I guess that counts as a fright, doesn’t it?” Sally asked.

The others were all in agreement. Some were thoroughly glad that the screen never showed an angle of her body, but it was glaringly obvious that she was, indeed, naked.

**She walks into the room and stands directly in front of him, straddling his legs and half-kneeling on the sofa, then reaches forward and pulls the white dog collar from his shirt collar.**

**IRENE: There now – we’re both defrocked ...**

“What was that?” Molly asked. She hadn’t even noticed it in Sherlock’s outfit.

“I think it’s a white collar. Maybe he was playing the role of a mugged vicar?” Lestrade didn’t seem so sure, but it was his best guess.

**She smiles down at him.**

**IRENE: ... Mr. Sherlock Holmes.**

**SHERLOCK (in his normal voice): Miss Adler, I presume.**

**IRENE (gazing down at his face): Look at those cheekbones. I could cut myself slapping that face. Would you like me to try?**

“Ten pounds says that Sherlock has absolutely no idea what is going on or what she means by that,” Sally whispered to Anderson.

Anderson frowned. “No, of course he knows. He read her whole website, didn’t he? To get to know her before going into battle?”

**Narrowing her eyes, she lifts the dog collar to her mouth and bites down onto the edge of it. As Sherlock stares up at her in confusion, John walks into the room carrying a bowl of water and a fabric napkin. His eyes are lowered to the bowl to avoid spilling its contents.**

“There! See? He looks bloody confused!” Sally declared. Anderson grumbled.

**JOHN: Right, this should do it.**

**He stops dead in the doorway as he lifts his eyes and sees the scene in front of him. Irene looks round to him, the dog collar still in her teeth. John looks at her awkwardly, then down at the bowl before looking up again.**

**JOHN: I’ve missed something, haven’t I?**

“Yes, John, you have. But so has Sherlock. Don’t you agree Anderson?” Sally asked in triumph. “I’ll take that ten, now, if you’d please.”

A paper note switched hands.

**Irene takes the collar from her teeth.**

**IRENE: Please, sit down.**

**She steps back from Sherlock, who fidgets uncomfortably on the sofa as she walks away.**

“Well, even if he did know what was going on, he seemed very uncomfortable about it,” Molly pointed out.

“As I said,” Mycroft said, “Things that have to do with sex alarm him.”

**IRENE: Oh, if you’d like some tea, I can call the maid.**

**SHERLOCK: I had some at the Palace.**

“He’s now dropped his charade completely because obviously she knows exactly what was going on the entire time,” Lestrade said.

“Yes.” John still seemed a bit uncomfortable, despite having already lived in that moment.

**IRENE: I know.**

**She sits down in a nearby armchair and crosses her legs, folding her arms gracefully to obscure the view of her chest.**

**SHERLOCK: Clearly.**

**They stare silently at each other for several seconds, weighing each other up. John looks at them awkwardly.**

**JOHN: I had a tea, too, at the Palace, if anyone’s interested.**

Sally chuckled. “No one wants to hear you talk right now, John,” she told him softly.

“No one wanted to hear any of the comments you had about Sherlock, either, but you still said them!” Molly suddenly cut in angrily. She knew that John wasn’t going to say anything about it – he was too awkward – so she would just have to step out of her shell a little to defend him.

**Sherlock’s eyes are still fixed on Irene while he attempts to make as many deductions about her as he can. His final analysis is as follows:**

*****

**???????**

“What’s happening?” Sally asked, very confused all of a sudden. Anderson, too, was staring, wondering what happened to their detective.

“It looks like he doesn’t know what to make of her,” Lestrade replied.

Now that she was folded in the chair, and everything was covered, it was less awkward to watch, but only slightly. (At least it was better than her being draped all over Sherlock’s body, Molly thought.)

“How do you figure?” Sally asked her boss.

*****

**Bewildered, he turns and looks at John and starts to analyze him:**

*****

**Looking at his neckline: Two Day Shirt**

**Looking at his lower face: Electric not blade**

**Looking at the bottom of his jeans and his shoes: Date tonight**

*****

**John frowns as Sherlock continues to gaze at him.**

“See? He’s checking himself with analyzing John. Sherlock is just as confused about Irene as John is uncomfortable with her,” Lestrade explained, highlighting once again exactly why he was a detective as well – just not as good as Sherlock.

*****

**Looking at John’s right eyebrow: Hasn’t phoned sister**

**Looking at John’s lower lip: New toothbrush**

**Looking just underneath his eyes: Night out with Stamford**

*****

**Relieved that he hasn’t had a brain embolism, he slowly turns his head and looks at Irene again. Narrowing his eyes slightly, he applies all his deductive reasoning as she smiles confidently back at him, and he quickly comes to the following conclusion:**

*****

**???????**

*****

**He frowns.**

**IRENE: D’you know the big problem with a disguise, Mr. Holmes?**

**He quirks an eyebrow at her.**

**IRENE: However hard you try, it’s always a self-portrait.**

**SHERLOCK: You think I’m a vicar with a bleeding face?**

“So, he _was_ meant to be a vicar! Okay, that makes sense, now,” Lestrade said. He was patting himself on the back for his deduction, even though he wasn’t fully confident in his answer earlier.

**IRENE: No, I think you’re damaged, delusional, and believe in a higher power. In your case, it’s yourself.**

**Apparently fed up with the tightness of his shirt, Sherlock starts unbuttoning the top two buttons. Irene leans forward.**

**IRENE: Oh, and somebody loves you. Why, if I had to punch that face, I’d avoid your nose and teeth too.**

**She glances across to John momentarily. John forces a laugh.**

“See, John? There is no denying it.

**JOHN: Could you put something on, please? Er, anything at all. (He looks down at what he’s holding.) A napkin.**

**IRENE: Why? Are you feeling exposed?**

“That is… admittedly… a useful tactic,” Sally said slowly.

**SHERLOCK (standing up): I don’t think John knows where to look.**

**He picks up his coat, shakes it out and holds it out towards Irene. Ignoring him for the moment, she stands up and walks closer to John, who rolls his head on his neck uncomfortably and forces himself to maintain eye contact with her and not to let his eyes wander lower.**

“Nice self-control, John,” Lestrade said with a cheeky grin.

“Easy for you to say! They’re not _showing_ anything here, but I had front row seats in that room!”

**IRENE: No, I think he knows exactly where.**

**She turns to Sherlock who is still holding out the coat while steadfastly keeping his gaze averted.**

**IRENE (taking the coat from him): I’m not sure about you.**

**SHERLOCK: If I wanted to look at naked women, I’d borrow John’s laptop.**

**JOHN: You do borrow my laptop.**

**SHERLOCK: I confiscate it.**

Another peal of laughter escaped at John’s expense. That seemed to be happening a lot. Maybe, instead of a documentary on Sherlock’s life, they should be thinking of it as a series of John’s most humiliating moments.

**He walks over to the fireplace opposite the sofa.**

**IRENE (putting on the coat and wrapping it around her): Well, never mind. We’ve got better things to talk about. Now tell me – I need to know.**

**She walks over to the sofa and sits down.**

**IRENE: How was it done?**

“How was what done?” Anderson asked. He wracked his brain for anything – a hint, a clue - as to what she was talking about but came up with nothing. He stared at Sally blankly, and she returned the look, just as confused, and equally annoyed with herself for not knowing. It must’ve been so obvious.

**SHERLOCK: What?**

**IRENE (taking off her shoes): The hiker with the bashed-in head. How was he killed?**

**The boys look confused.**

“Mark _that_ down in the record books! This one woman has made Sherlock confused for the entirety of them conversing,” Lestrade remarked. “Not only did she surprise him by knowing who he was, but she caught him off guard, disrupted his sleuthing, _and_ now asks about a case that seems completely unrelated to what they are talking about!”

“It’s just how his brain works,” Molly interrupted. “He’s all about logic, isn’t he? He uses that to understand people, but she’s figured out that if you go against all logical explanation, he’s at a loss.” She shrank down in her seat as the others – including Mycroft – all stared at her in surprise. “That’s my guess anyway.” Though her voice was quiet, they all heard her.

**SHERLOCK: That’s not why I’m here.**

**IRENE: No, no, no, you’re here for the photographs but that’s never gonna happen, and since we’re here just chatting anyway ...**

**JOHN: That story’s not been on the news yet. How do you know about it?**

**IRENE: I know one of the policemen. Well, I know what he likes.**

**JOHN: Oh. (He sits down beside her.) And you like policemen?**

**IRENE: I like detective stories – and detectives. Brainy’s the new sexy.**

**SHERLOCK (incoherently): Positionofthecar ...**

**John and Irene stare at him while he quickly pulls himself together.**

“What just happened?” Lestrade cried in surprise.

John just grinned, knowing that, for once, it wouldn’t be him being laughed at. “She gets to him,” was all he said. “He’s just trying to show off.”

**SHERLOCK (starting to pace slowly): Er, the position of the car relative to the hiker at the time of the backfire. That and the fact that the death blow was to the back of the head. That’s all you need to know.**

**IRENE: Okay, tell me: how was he murdered?**

**SHERLOCK: He wasn’t.**

“He’s gaining back some ground, because she’s wrong about the case. That’s good,” Molly muttered, mostly to herself.

**IRENE: You don’t think it was murder?**

**SHERLOCK: I know it wasn’t.**

**IRENE: How?**

“There he is,” Mrs. Hudson said proudly, smiling at the Sherlock on screen.

“Probably ‘cause now that she’s covered up, he can focus,” Sally remarked, grinning wolfishly.

**SHERLOCK: The same way that I know the victim was an excellent sportsman recently returned from foreign travel and that the photographs I’m looking for are in this room.**

**IRENE: Okay, but how?**

**SHERLOCK: So, they are in this room. Thank you. John, man the door. Let no-one in.**

Lestrade chuckled, grinning at the man on the screen. That was the Sherlock he knew. The confidence; the cheekiness; it was all there, returned from wherever he’d stashed it in his surprise earlier.

“But what would have happened if the photographs _weren’t_ in the room?” Anderson just had to ask and was met with several glares.

“Miss Adler wouldn’t be the type of person to let Sherlock Holmes into her house, knowing he was there for the photographs, without putting him into the exact room they were in. It’s not in her nature,” Mycroft pointed out with a supercilious air to his voice.

“And what did he know about her nature at that point?” Anderson asked in return, challenging him. (which is not something one just _does_.)

“Everything he needed to know was on her website. Mostly every bit of information is available to us nowadays., Maybe if you’d pay attention to that, you’d be better at your job.”

**The two of them exchange a significant look, then John gets up and puts the bowl and napkin on a table before leaving the room and closing the door behind him. In the hallway, he looks around, then picks up a magazine from a nearby table and rolls it up. Back in the sitting room, Irene sits up straighter, looking suspiciously at the closed door.**

*****

**SHERLOCK (starting to pace again): Two men alone in the countryside several yards apart, and one car.**

**IRENE: Oh. I – I thought you were looking for the photos now.**

**SHERLOCK: No, no. Looking takes ages. I’m just going to find them but you’re moderately clever and we’ve got a moment, so let’s pass the time.**

**He stops and turns to her.**

**SHERLOCK: Two men, a car, and nobody else.**

**He squats down and suddenly it’s as if he is at the crime scene, squatting down next to the driver’s door of Phil’s car. Inside, frozen in time, Phil’s face is screwed up with rage while his hands are raised, about to slam down angrily onto the steering wheel.**

“Well, that’s a neat trick,” Lestrade said. “He uses that… mind palace of his – to do that, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah.”

**SHERLOCK: The driver’s trying to fix his engine. Getting nowhere.**

**Straightening up, he turns and looks into the field.**

**SHERLOCK: And the hiker’s taking a moment, looking at the sky.**

**Now he’s down in the field, walking around the hiker who is also frozen in time.**

“That seems a lot more efficient than being there and actually walking around,” Sally whispered.

“Why was he watching the sky?” Anderson asked, “More importantly, why is that important? I thought he was just enjoying the scenery – being a hiker an’ all.”

“That’s why Sherlock has always been better at your job that you are,” John muttered, letting out a huff.

**SHERLOCK: Watching the birds?**

**He looks doubtful.**

**SHERLOCK: Any moment now, something’s gonna happen. What?**

**Nearby, Irene is sitting on her sofa which has mysteriously appeared in the field near the hiker.**

“Wait… can _she_ see this too? How does it even _work_?” Sally looked baffled. “I’m very confused by all this.”

“Don’t worry,” John said, actually sympathizing with her for once. “It’s the first I’m seeing of this, too, and I’m on the same boat.”

**IRENE: The hiker’s going to die.**

**SHERLOCK: No, that’s the result. What’s going to happen?**

**IRENE: I don’t understand.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, well, try to.**

**IRENE: Why?**

**SHERLOCK: Because you cater to the whims of the pathetic and take your clothes off to make an impression. Stop boring me and think. (Sarcastically) It’s the new sexy.**

“That was harsh,” Sally said, almost wincing at the insult. Secretly, she was glad that the insults he threw _her_ way weren’t that bad. They were just repeated so many times they were ingrained into her.

“But accurately true,” Molly countered.

**IRENE: The car’s going to backfire.**

**SHERLOCK: There’s going to be a loud noise.**

**IRENE: So, what?**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, noises are important. Noises can tell you everything. For instance ...**

**Back in the sitting room – which they obviously never really left – he pauses dramatically and a moment later a smoke alarm starts to beep insistently from the hall. Out in the hall, John had set light to the end of the rolled-up magazine, blown it mostly out again and allowed the smoke to drift upwards. Now he waves his hand over the magazine and blows on it to try to put it out completely. In the sitting room, Irene turns and looks at the large mirror over the fireplace. Sherlock turns his head and follows her gaze.**

“So, the photographs are behind the mirror,” Molly said.

**SHERLOCK: Thank you. On hearing a smoke alarm, a mother would look towards her child. Amazing how fire exposes our priorities.**

“ _That’s_ what you were doing? Good idea, boys.” Mrs. Hudson grinned at John proudly.

**He walks over to the fireplace and begins running his fingers underneath the mantelpiece. Finding a switch under there, he presses it and the mirror slides upwards, revealing a small wall safe behind it. Sherlock turns and looks at Irene as she stands up.**

**SHERLOCK: Really hope you don’t have a baby in here.**

“Did he just make a joke?” Sally asked. “Did he _seriously_ just make a joke?”

“That’s not that unusual for him, even before John showed up,” Lestrade said thoughtfully. “You’ve just never been around to see it, because he doesn’t like you.”

**He calls out.**

**SHERLOCK: All right, John, you can turn it off now.**

**In the hall, John is still trying to put out the smouldering magazine.**

**SHERLOCK (loudly): I said you can turn it off now.**

**JOHN: Give me a minute.**

“You seem to be struggling, John. It was just a magazine! Run it under the tap or something.” Sally rolled her eyes at him.

**He starts thwacking the end of the magazine on the table, grimacing when sparks fly up from the paper, but then looks round as three men run down the stairs. The first one raises an enormous pistol – the silencer of which is so long that he must be compensating for some other shortcoming – and fires it up at the smoke alarm, shattering it. The beeping stops. One of the other men hurries towards John, aiming his pistol at him and John instantly raises his hands, looking at the first man as he walks over and stops in front of him.**

**JOHN: Thank you.**

“Well, now you’re done for, mate.” Lestrade winced.

**In the sitting room Sherlock is looking closely at the number pad on the front of the safe.**

**SHERLOCK: Hmm. Should always use gloves with these things, you know. Heaviest oil deposit’s always on the first key used – that’s quite clearly the three – but after that the sequence is almost impossible to read. I’d say from the make that it’s a six-digit code. Can’t be your birthday – no disrespect but clearly you were born in the eighties; the eight’s barely used, so ...**

**IRENE: I’d tell you the code right now, but you know what? I already have.**

“Tables are shifting now. She’s pretty confident that he can’t figure it out.” Lestrade shook his head at the screen.

**Sherlock frowns at her.**

**IRENE: Think.**

**The door bursts open and the leader of the group, Neilson, comes in and aims his pistol at Sherlock.**

**NEILSON: Hands behind your head. (To Irene) On the floor. Keep it still.**

**A second man goes over to Irene and walks her nearer to John who is being bundled in by a third man.**

**JOHN: Sorry, Sherlock.**

**As Sherlock raises his hands, Neilson looks round at Irene.**

**NEILSON: Ms. Adler, on the floor.**

**His colleague shoves her to her knees beside John who has also been pushed to his knees and is doubled over with his hands behind his head and a pistol pointed to the back of his neck.**

**SHERLOCK: Don’t you want me on the floor too?**

**NEILSON: No, sir, I want you to open the safe.**

**SHERLOCK (clocking his accent): American. Interesting. Why would you care?**

**He glances across at Irene as she puts her hands behind her head.**

**NEILSON: Sir, the safe, now, please.**

**SHERLOCK: I don’t know the code.**

**NEILSON: We’ve been listening. She said she told you.**

**SHERLOCK: Well, if you’d been listening, you’d know she didn’t.**

**NEILSON: I’m assuming I missed something. From your reputation, I’m assuming you didn’t, Mr. Holmes.**

**JOHN: For God’s sake. She’s the one who knows the code. Ask her.**

**NEILSON: Yes, sir. She also knows the code that automatically calls the police and sets off the burglar alarm. I’ve learned not to trust this woman.**

**IRENE: Mr. Holmes doesn’t ...**

**NEILSON: Shut up. One more word out of you – just one – and I will decorate that wall with the insides of your head. That, for me, will not be a hardship.**

**Sherlock glares at him ferociously.**

**NEILSON: Mr. Archer. At the count of three, shoot Doctor Watson.**

**JOHN: What?**

**SHERLOCK: I don’t have the code.**

**John cowers down as Archer presses the muzzle of his pistol into the back of his neck and cocks the gun.**

**NEILSON: One.**

**SHERLOCK (emphatically): I don’t know the code.**

**NEILSON: Two.**

**SHERLOCK: She didn’t tell me. (Raising his voice) I don’t know it!**

**NEILSON: I’m prepared to believe you any second now.**

**Sherlock looks across to Irene who lowers her gaze pointedly downwards.**

“What was that about?” Molly asked suspiciously.

Before anyone could ask what she meant by that, the man spoke again:

**NEILSON: Three.**

**SHERLOCK: No, stop!**

**Neilson holds up his free hand to stop Archer. John closes his eyes. Sherlock’s gaze becomes distant while his mind works frantically, then he slowly turns towards the safe and lowers his hands. As Neilson watches him closely, he slowly reaches out a finger towards the keypad and punches the ‘3’ and then the ‘2’. Hesitating for a moment, he then punches ‘2’ and ‘4’. Pausing again, he hits ‘3’ and ‘4’. The safe beeps and noisily unlocks. Irene smiles in satisfaction as Sherlock sighs and closes his eyes briefly. John sags lower on his knees and shuts his own eyes again.**

“How did he suddenly know that?” Sally questioned.

Ignoring her, Lestrade turned to Molly, “What were you talking about earlier?”

Molly went a little red in frustration. “Well, I know now how he recognized her in the morgue, but I was just wondering why we were shown her looking down. It was quick, but I saw it.”

“Looking down?” he asked. He hadn’t been paying close enough attention; it had just all been so quick.

“Yeah… Maybe we’ll find out later. John?” she asked – just to check. He nodded.

**NEILSON: Thank you, Mr. Holmes. Open it, please.**

**Twisting the button that will open the door, Sherlock looks across to Irene again who lowers her gaze to the floor and makes a tiny jerk with her head. He turns back to the safe.**

**SHERLOCK (urgently): Vatican cameos.**

**Instantly John throws himself to the floor. At the same moment Sherlock pulls open the door of the safe while ducking down below the fireplace. Inside the safe, a tripwire attached to the door tugs on the trigger of a pistol with an equally long and over-compensatory silencer which is aimed straight out of the safe. The gun fires and Archer – who happened to be standing directly in front of it – is shot in the chest. Rapidly turning and straightening up, Sherlock grabs for Neilson’s pistol and Irene spins around on her knees and savagely elbows her guard in the groin. Pulling the pistol from Neilson’s grip, Sherlock holds the silencer end and smashes the butt across his face and Neilson drops to the floor unconscious. As Irene’s guard crumples under her blow, she grapples for his pistol and is on her feet and aiming it down at him while he’s still falling. Sherlock turns to her.**

**SHERLOCK: D’you mind?**

**IRENE: Not at all.**

**As her guard tries to get up, she slams the gun across his face and knocks him unconscious. While she’s distracted, Sherlock reaches into the safe and takes something out of it. Nearby, John has checked Archer over and now stands up.**

**JOHN: He’s dead.**

**IRENE (to Sherlock, continuing to aim her pistol down at her guard): Thank you. You were very observant.**

“Observant?” Anderson asked.

**JOHN: Observant?**

“Even Watson’s confused. What just happened?”

“You mean, other than them playing their little game and almost getting us all killed, I didn’t know.” John grumbled under his breath.

“Meaning you know now?” Lestrade asked.

“Of course, but you’ll find out soon enough, so no need to tell you.”

**IRENE: I’m flattered.**

**SHERLOCK: Don’t be.**

**JOHN: Flattered?**

**SHERLOCK: There’ll be more of them. They’ll be keeping an eye on the building.**

**Still holding Neilson’s pistol but having removed the silencer, he hurries out of the room. John tucks Archer’s gun into the back of his jeans and follows him. Irene goes over to the safe and stares into it wide-eyed. Sherlock trots out onto the street with John behind him.**

**JOHN: We should call the police.**

**SHERLOCK: Yes.**

**Pointing the pistol into the air, he fires it five times. Nearby, tyres screech.**

Lestrade frowned. “I guess that’s one way to call the police…” It was very unconventional, but he had to admit that it worked.

**SHERLOCK: On their way.**

**He turns and trots back into the house.**

**JOHN: For God’s sake!**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, shut up. It’s quick.**

“That’s true, but it’s also dangerous,” Sally said.

**He goes back into the sitting room. Irene turns around from the safe to face him.**

**SHERLOCK (to John): Check the rest of the house. See how they got in.**

**John heads off and Sherlock takes the item which he just stole from the safe out of his pocket and flips it nonchalantly into the air before catching it again.**

**SHERLOCK: Well, that’s the knighthood in the bag.**

**IRENE: Ah. And that’s mine.**

“Does she _seriously_ think that he’s going to just give it to her? Does she even _know_ him?” Sally scoffed.

**She holds out her hand. Ignoring her, Sherlock switches on the security lock on the phone he’s holding. It requires four letters or numbers to activate it and it has “I AM” above the four spaces and “LOCKED” below them.**

Everyone – aside from Mycroft, of course – stared at the passcode in confusion. What could the code possibly be?

**SHERLOCK: All the photographs are on here, I presume.**

**IRENE: I have copies, of course.**

**SHERLOCK: No, you don’t. You’ll have permanently disabled any kind of uplink or connection. Unless the contents of this phone are provably unique, you wouldn’t be able to sell them.**

**IRENE (lowering her hand): Who said I’m selling?**

**SHERLOCK (looking at the dead and unconscious bodies lying on the floor): Well, why would they be interested? Whatever’s on the phone, it’s clearly not just photographs.**

**IRENE: That camera phone is my life, Mr. Holmes. I’d die before I let you take it. (She walks closer and holds her hand out again.) It’s my protection.**

**JOHN (calling out): Sherlock!**

**SHERLOCK (pulling the phone back and looking at Irene pointedly): It was.**

“Again, harsh.”

**He turns and leaves the room. She chases after him.**

The screen was black once again.

Anderson frowned. “Did that seem to cut off too soon for you guys? Like, it was very long, but the break didn’t seem natural.”

“A little, but maybe this scene is just really long, and we had to take a break somewhere in the middle so it’s consistent?” Sally replied.

“Anyway, does anyone want to explain what just happened, because I’m still having a difficult time processing it all,” Lestrade said.

“Um…” Molly spoke up, “Well, both of them were getting ready for the encounter, but then, it, um… went south, and was a bit strange. I mean, who just walks around nude? They were kind of jumping around back and forth.”

“Yeah, what did the hiker case have to do with anything, anyway?” Sally questioned. “Even Holmes said it wasn’t even an eight!”

They continued debating back and forth, her, Molly and Anderson, about what went on while Lestrade, Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson, and John just watched, confused, bored, or amused – depending on the person.

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	29. 2x1 Part 4 - A Scandal in Belgravia

“Even if the case wasn’t an eight, it had to be a six or a seven, because I couldn’t make heads or tails of it,” Lestrade said. He reached up to scratch at the back of his neck – a nervous habit of his.

“Shh! It’s starting again!” Sally hushed him suddenly.

**Upstairs in the bedroom, John is kneeling over the silent figure of Kate lying on the floor. Putting his ear to her mouth to check her breathing, he straightens up and takes her pulse. Standing up, he goes into the en suite bathroom and looks at the open window in there. Sherlock, followed by Irene, comes into the bedroom as John comes out of the bathroom.**

**JOHN: Must have come in this way.**

“No, John, they came in and specifically went in there to knock her out then opened the window, just because!” Sally said sarcastically. It was meant to be playful banter, but she didn’t realize that – as she wasn’t one of John’s close friends – it was not seen that way.

“I know that,” John grumbled.

**SHERLOCK: Clearly.**

**He goes into the bathroom to look out of the window. Irene walks anxiously towards Kate.**

**JOHN: It’s all right. She’s just out cold.**

**IRENE: Well, God knows she’s used to that-**

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Molly whispered suspiciously.

**-There’s a back door. Better check it, Doctor Watson.**

“She’s obviously trying to get rid of him,” Molly said.

“What make’s you say that?” Lestrade turned to him with a slightly raised eyebrow.

**Sherlock has come out of the bathroom and nods to him.**

**JOHN: Sure.**

**He leaves the room. Irene goes over to the dressing table, opens a drawer and covertly takes a syringe out of it. Sherlock is looking at the camera phone and doesn’t notice.**

“Because of that,” Molly replied to Lestrade’s question. “She was looking at the table when she walked past him, and she didn’t even look mildly concerned about the back door.”

**SHERLOCK: You’re very calm.**

**She looks over at him blankly.**

**SHERLOCK: Well, your booby trap did just kill a man.**

**IRENE: He would have killed me. It was self-defence in advance.**

Molly glared as Irene got a little too close to Sherlock for her liking. She would tell herself that it was because she still didn’t trust The Woman, but deep down inside, she also knew that there was another reason – that reason being a small bug of jealously that had dug its way into her heart.

Mrs. Hudson noticed the look and chuckled, patting the girl’s arm.

**Walking across to Sherlock, she strokes her hand down his left arm. As he looks down at her hand, she steps around behind him and stabs the syringe into his right arm before pulling it out again. He gasps and spins around, trying to grab at his arm.**

Several gasps of shock and surprise echoed around the room – aside from John and Mycroft, no one had suspected it or know it was coming.

“Did they seriously put sound effects on these episodes, just to make them seem more dramatic than they already are?” Anderson asked.

“Seems so,” Lestrade commented. “Remember the music during the pool scene?”

**SHERLOCK: What? What is that? What ...?**

**As his face turns towards her again, she slaps him hard. He stumbles and falls to the floor. She holds out her hand to him.**

Molly rose from her seat, almost ready to pounce of Irene through the screen. How could she have done that? To _her_ Sherlock- wait. Not her Sherlock. Just Sherlock. How could she have done that to Sherlock?

“Be calm, dear,” Mrs. Hudson said, somehow holding Molly in her seat.

**IRENE: Give it to me. Now. Give it to me.**

**Sherlock’s vision is going fuzzy. Grunting, he tries to get back to his feet.**

“We’re seeing this from Sherlock’s perspective. That’s quite interesting, actually,” Lestrade mused. He felt somewhat dizzy himself upon seeing the screen bur in and out, and had to briefly look away to remind himself that it wasn’t him.

**SHERLOCK: No.**

**IRENE: Give it to me.**

**Starting to lose control of his muscles, Sherlock slumps to his hands and knees, still holding onto the phone.**

**SHERLOCK: No.**

“I’m surprised that he can still fight back against whatever that drug is,” Sally said. She was staring intently at the screen, hoping to know what it could’ve possibly been, as it seemed to work quite quickly and

**IRENE: Oh, for goodness’ sake.**

**She picks up her riding crop from the dressing table and wields it at him.**

**IRENE: Drop it.**

**Sherlock continues trying to struggle to his feet.**

**IRENE: I ... (she thrashes him) ... said ... (she thrashes him again) ... drop it.**

**She strikes him a third time, and he falls to the floor, unintentionally dropping the phone.**

Each time she whipped him across the face, a small squeak left Molly’s lips. Worry blossomed in her chest for poor Sherlock, who – in her opinion – hadn’t done a thing to deserve the harsh treatment. Irene was the bad guy. Always the bad guy.

**IRENE: Ah. Thank you, dear.**

**As he lies on his back unable to move, she picks up the phone and types on it, standing over Sherlock and looking down at him smugly.**

**IRENE: Now tell that sweet little posh thing the pictures are safe with me. They’re not for blackmail, just for insurance.**

Many of the viewers shivered at seeing Irene from Sherlock’s perspective. How could that have affected their prideful detective? Not well, that was for sure.

**She puts the phone into the pocket of Sherlock’s coat which she’s still wearing.**

**IRENE: Besides, I might want to see her again.**

**Grunting, Sherlock tries to get up. Irene presses him back down to the floor with one foot and the end of her crop.**

“Well, that was a pathetic squeak if I’ve ever heard one,” Sally said.

**IRENE: Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. It’s been a pleasure. Don’t spoil it.**

**She gently strokes the end of the crop against his face.**

**IRENE: This is how I want you to remember me. The woman who beat you.**

“In both senses of the word,” Anderson mumbled, earning a snort from Sally.

**Sherlock’s vision becomes fuzzier.**

**IRENE: Goodnight, Mr. Sherlock Holmes.**

**She heads for the bathroom just as John walks back into the bedroom.**

**JOHN: Jesus. What are you doing?**

“ _Now_ you show up! Just a little late, John!” Molly cried angrily.

“It’s not like I knew what was going on,” he said back, not raising his voice. He knew that she was in an emotional state at the moment, and he perfectly understood why. The girl was all but growling at Irene, and he didn’t doubt that she was silently counting the ways that she would make The Woman suffer for her actions against Sherlock.

**IRENE: He’ll sleep for a few hours. Make sure he doesn’t choke on his own vomit. It makes for a very unattractive corpse.**

**She sits on the windowsill in the bathroom, puts her feet up on the edge of the bath and takes hold of a cord hanging from the ledge.**

**JOHN (picking up the syringe lying on the floor): What’s this? What have you given him? Sherlock!**

“He’ll be fine,” Mycroft said, “It’s not like he hasn’t taken enough drugs to get him like this before.” He seemed mildly annoyed by his own statement as if reliving all of the moments of his brother and his drug raves.

**IRENE: He’ll be fine. I’ve used it on loads of my friends.**

Molly scoffed. “She has friends? I doubt it!”

**JOHN (kneeling and looking down at his flatmate): Sherlock, can you hear me?**

**IRENE: You know, I was wrong about him. He did know where to look.**

**JOHN (standing up again and turning to her): For what? What are you talking about?**

“For once, I feel just as clueless as John. What does she even mean?” Sally said, earning an indignant sound from the man.

“When she was walking around earlier in the nude, she said that Sherlock didn’t know where to look. But now, what does she mean? How could she tell?”

**IRENE: The key code to my safe.**

“That’s right! How did he suddenly know what it was?”

Molly was thinking really hard about it – at least by the look on her face, and suddenly, it was like a lightbulb had gone off in her head. She kept quiet, though, as her face slowly went red with both embarrassment and anger.

**JOHN: What was it?**

**She looks down at Sherlock who is gazing at her barely conscious but still trying in vain to get up.**

**IRENE: Shall I tell him?**

**John looks down at him for a moment then turns back to Irene just as sirens announce the arrival of the police. Irene smiles at him.**

**IRENE: My measurements.**

“What? He could tell her measurements just by looking at her?” Anderson asked. Then, quieter, he mumbled, “Lucky…”

Sally heard and she smacked him for it.

Meanwhile, molly was growling even more as she realized that she had been right. She’d recalled the moment when they’d found Irene’s dead body, and though her face was completely torn apart, Sherlock had been able to recognize her – when Molly as unzipped the rest of the body bag. Obviously, this had been why, and he’d known her body better than anyone else’s.

**And with that she pushes her feet against the edge of the bath and topples backwards out of the window, still holding a thin rope. John hurries over to the window and looks out while Sherlock still tries vainly to lift himself up but continues to fall back helplessly.**

**As he lapses into unconsciousness, he finds himself – inside his own mind anyway – back at the crime scene in the country and sitting in the driver’s seat of Phil’s car. Irene is standing outside clinging onto the ledge of the rolled-down window and looking in at him urgently.**

**IRENE: Got it!**

“This is a hallucination, right?” Anderson asked, staring at the screen in confusion.

“Obviously,” Mycroft grumbled.

**Blinking and trying to clear his head, he turns as if to get out of the car, but she holds up a finger.**

**IRENE: Oh, shush now. Don’t get up. I’ll do the talking.**

“But… if it’s a hallucination, she’s not actually there, is she?” he continued.

“That’s kind of how hallucinations work,” John said. A few of the others laughed.

“What I’m getting at is _why_ is she in the hallucination? Is this just Sherlock figuring it out? I thought he already had everything figured out about this case.

**She goes around to the rear of the car and bends down to look more closely at the exhaust pipe.**

**IRENE: So, the car’s about to backfire ...**

**She stands up again and suddenly she and Sherlock are standing near the hiker in the field while he stands frozen and staring upwards at a forty-five-degree angle.**

“Whoa, that’s convenient – being at the crime scene constructed entirely in your mind and not having to actually move around,” Sally said.

“Haven’t you already said that?” Molly questioned.

Sally shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t really care to be honest. It still looks useful.”

**IRENE: ... and the hiker, he’s staring at the sky. Now, you said he could be watching birds, but he wasn’t, was he?**

**She walks around to the front of the hiker, following his gaze. Sherlock follows her.**

**IRENE: He was watching another kind of flying thing. The car backfires, and the hiker turns to look ...**

**The hiker turns his head to look back towards the car and at the same moment, an object flies in so rapidly that we can’t see what it is. It strikes him on the back of the head, bounces off and skims quickly away. The man falls backwards and for a brief moment, Sherlock is back in Irene’s bedroom and falls back to the floor. Then he’s back at the crime scene and he and Irene look down at the hiker lying on the ground.**

“What was that?” Anderson squinted as if hoping to better remember what he’d seen.

“It was brown – wooden, most likely. And it was pretty big, maybe a foot in length. A boomerang?” Lestrade suggested.

John’s eyebrows shot up, but he said nothing. He just kept the impressed look on his face.

**IRENE: ... which was his big mistake.**

**She looks towards the road again.**

**IRENE: By the time the driver looks up, the hiker’s already dead. What he doesn’t see is what killed him because it’s already being washed downstream.**

**Floating at the edge of the stream is the most unlikely item you’d ever expect to see – a boomerang.**

“Ha! I was right!” Lestrade actually looked very proud of himself. He hadn’t even been to the crime scene, but seeing it re-enacted right in front of him, almost too quickly for him to be able to tell, it was fairly easy to figure out – if you knew what to look for. He’d proved yet again that even with the help of Sherlock, he was an accomplished detective. In fact, it was mostly the cases from Moriarty that he had trouble with because they tended to be tailored specifically for Sherlock. And then, of course, the rare few cases that sometimes even stumped the Great Detective himself.

**IRENE: An accomplished sportsman recently returned from foreign travel with ... a boomerang. You got that from one look? Definitely the new sexy.**

**She turns and smiles at Sherlock.**

“So, we’re all in agreement that this is happening all in his mind, correct?” Anderson asked, looking around at everyone. “Then why is she acting this way? Is it Sherlock, or does he just know her well enough now to perfectly reconstruct her personality into a figment of his imagination?”

“She’s probably just a figment, and he’s just making this figment act exactly like her,” Sally said.

“Why don’t I get a figment?” he then whined.

“You probably do, and he’s probably very annoying.”

Anderson pouted, crossing his arms like a child.

**SHERLOCK (vaguely): I ...**

**He blinks, looking around in confusion.**

“And he’s still on drugs, too! How is he even manifesting this dream?” Anderson then pointed out, throwing his arms forward to gesture wildly at the screen.

**SHERLOCK: I ...**

**Behind him, a bed rises up to meet him. The angle changes and he sinks down onto the bed and a sheet rises up to wrap around him. His eyes close.**

**IRENE (softly): Hush now.**

**She leans down over him. Sherlock’s fuzzy view of her shows that she’s no longer in the field but inside a room.**

**IRENE (softly): It’s okay. I’m only returning your coat.**

Anderson was on a roll. “Was that a hallucination, too?”

“Probably not, because he had his coat again later.”

**She leans closer towards him, then fades out. Sherlock jerks back into consciousness and finds himself alone and in bed in his own bedroom, fully clothed and covered with a sheet. He lifts his head.**

**SHERLOCK: John?**

**He shakes his head, trying to clear it.**

**SHERLOCK (louder): John!**

“He sounds like his tongue is too big for his mouth!” Molly said, worriedly, though she was also hiding a laugh. She didn’t know how long after that encounter it was, but it didn’t seem short – or perhaps, the drug was just _very_ strong.

“At least it’s not his usual brain-too-big-for-is-head attitude,” Sally muttered.

**In the living room, John looks around. Sherlock throws back the sheet and kneels up on the bed, then promptly loses his balance, falls forward and rolls over the foot of the bed and onto the floor. John opens the bedroom door and comes in as he sits up.**

“See? His coat is on the back of the door! Don’t you see it?’ Molly pointed out quickly before the on-screen John opened the bedroom door.

**JOHN: You okay?**

**SHERLOCK: How did I get here?**

“That’s also what we were wondering. Probably John dragging his drugged-up butt around as usual,” Lestrade said jokingly.

“To be fair, I never dragged Sherlock around drugged, because he was hardly on drugs around me. I never even knew, remember?”

**JOHN: Well, I don’t suppose you remember much. You weren’t making a lot of sense. Oh, I should warn you: I think Lestrade filmed you on his phone.**

Lestrade chuckled. “I did.”

“As cool as that hallucination was, I really want to see what happened in real life. Lestrade, can I see that video?” Anderson turned to his boss with hopeful eyes.

“No.”

“Aw! Come on! Please?”

Once again, Lestrade answered “no,” but he had a small smile and was trying not to laugh as he thought of Sherlock stumbling around and babbling, making absolutely no sense.

**SHERLOCK (getting to his feet): Where is she?**

**JOHN: Where’s who?**

**SHERLOCK: The woman. That woman.**

**JOHN: What woman?**

**SHERLOCK (stumbling aimlessly around the room): The woman. The Woman-woman!**

“You can tell that the drugs are still affecting him,” Molly pointed out. “Like, a lot.”

“Maybe it just the woman,” Sally countered, earning herself a sharp glare from Molly. “Hey! How would you know it’s not?”

“I just know!”

**JOHN: What, Irene Adler? She got away. No-one saw her.**

**Sherlock stumbles over to the open window and looks through it.**

**JOHN: She wasn’t here, Sherlock.**

**Turning around, Sherlock either falls down again or deliberately drops to the floor – it’s not clear which. While he’s down there he drags himself across the floor and peers under the bed as if looking to see whether Irene is hiding under there, then he squints around as if checking that she’s not hidden under or behind the wardrobe.**

**JOHN: What are you ...? What ...? No, no, no, no.**

**He hauls Sherlock up and drops him face-down onto the bed.**

“Good work, John,” Lestrade said with a firm nod. There was a wide grin on his face.

**JOHN: Back to bed. (He covers him over with the sheet.) You’ll be fine in the morning. Just sleep.**

**SHERLOCK (blurrily): Of course, I’ll be fine. I am fine. I’m absolutely fine.**

**JOHN: Yes, you’re great. Now I’ll be next door if you need me.**

**SHERLOCK (fuzzily): Why would I need you?**

**JOHN: No reason at all.**

“Of course, but just in case…” Anderson said in a teasing manner.

**He walks out of the room shutting the door behind him. Sherlock’s coat is hanging on the back of the door. A few moments later his pocket lights up as his phone activates and an orgasmic female sigh comes from the speaker. Sherlock opens his eyes and sits up, looking blearily across to his coat. Frowning at it as if realizing that it can only have been returned by Irene, he gets out of bed and wobbles across the floor towards it, losing his balance a couple of times en route but managing to stay on his feet. Finally, he gets to the door and takes the phone out of his pocket. Bracing himself against the wall he activates the phone. A new text message reads:**

*****

**Till the next time, Mr. Holmes**

*****

**Sherlock peers at it for a long moment and then looks around suspiciously, totally oblivious to the fact that the most suspicious thing in the room is the red kiss-shaped lipstick mark just to the left of his mouth.**

Molly squinted once again at the screen, then jerked back in horror. An almost-hiss escaped her lips.

“What?” Lestrade asked. He, too, was extremely surprised, but no by anything on the screen, instead, he was shocked at the sudden transformation for their pathologist, who usually had a very sweet character about her.

*****

**NEXT MORNING. Sherlock – now fully recovered – and John are sitting at the table in the living room. John is eating breakfast while Sherlock is reading a newspaper. Mycroft stands nearby.**

**SHERLOCK: The photographs are perfectly safe.**

**MYCROFT: In the hands of a fugitive sex worker.**

“You know, you’re quite rude, but she did deserve that,” Molly grumbled in Mycroft’s direction.

**SHERLOCK: She’s not interested in blackmail. She wants ... protection for some reason. I take it you’ve stood down the police investigation into the shooting at her house?**

**MYCROFT: How can we do anything while she has the photographs? Our hands are tied.**

**SHERLOCK: She’d applaud your choice of words.**

A few laughs were heard before they died quietly.

**John smirks.**

**SHERLOCK: You see how this works: that camera phone is her “Get out of jail free” card. You have to leave her alone. Treat her like royalty, Mycroft.**

**JOHN: Though not the way she treats royalty.**

**He smiles sarcastically at Mycroft, who returns the smile humourlessly. Just then the sound of an orgasmic female sigh fills the room. John and Mycroft frown.**

“That must have been quite a shocking moment for you two,” Lestrade said.

“Why didn’t he change it back?” Anderson asked.

Sally shrugged. “Too lazy? Didn’t know how? Sentimental reasons?” she listed.

**JOHN: What was that?**

**SHERLOCK (trying to look nonchalant): Text.**

**JOHN: But what was that noise?**

**Sherlock gets up and goes over to pick up his phone from nearby. He looks at the message which reads:**

*****

**Good morning, Mr. Holmes**

*****

**SHERLOCK: Did you know there were other people after her too, Mycroft, before you sent John and I in there? CIA-trained killers, at an excellent guess.**

“Well, they’re gone now, so we don’t have to worry anymore, right?”

**He goes back to the table and sits down again as John looks round at Mycroft.**

**JOHN: Yeah, thanks for that, Mycroft.**

**Mrs. Hudson brings in a plate of breakfast from the kitchen and puts it down in front of Sherlock.**

**MRS. HUDSON (sternly): It’s a disgrace, sending your little brother into danger like that. Family is all we have in the end, Mycroft Holmes.**

“You said it, Mrs. Hudson!” Anderson cheered.

“How come you never talk to Lestrade like that?” Sally asked. “He also sends Sherlock into danger.” Then, she turned to Anderson and hissed, “Whose side are you on?”

Mrs. Hudson smiled. “But Greg goes in with him, and he likes doing it for him. Mycroft is just too _lazy_ to go out and do these things.” She cast an unfriendly, un-Mrs.-Hudson-ish sneer at Mycroft.

**MYCROFT: Oh, shut up, Mrs. Hudson.**

**SHERLOCK (furiously): MYCROFT!**

**JOHN (simultaneously and equally furiously): OI!**

**Mycroft looks at the three angry faces glaring at him, then cringes and looks contritely at Mrs. Hudson.**

There were several laughs at Mycroft’s expense.

**MYCROFT: Apologies.**

“Oh, that looked dreadfully painful,” Lestrade teased the elder Holmes.

Mycroft just sneered.

**MRS. HUDSON: Thank you.**

**SHERLOCK: Though do, in fact, shut up.**

**His phone sighs orgasmically again. Mrs. Hudson, who was going back into the kitchen, turns around.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Ooh. It’s a bit rude, that noise, isn’t it?**

Anderson sighed. “And yet, he doesn’t do anything.”

“I told you, he probably doesn’t know how to change it, or is just too lazy too!” Sally reiterated.

**Sherlock looks at the latest message which reads:**

*****

**Feeling better?**

*****

**SHERLOCK: There’s nothing you can do and nothing she will do as far as I can see.**

**MYCROFT: I can put maximum surveillance on her.**

**SHERLOCK: Why bother? You can follow her on Twitter. I believe her username is “TheWhipHand.”**

**MYCROFT: Yes. Most amusing.**

“That’s a fake smile and you know it, Mycroft,” Lestrade pointed out.

**His phone rings, and he takes it from his pocket.**

**MYCROFT: ’Scuse me.**

**He walks out into the hall.**

**MYCROFT (into phone): Hello.**

**Sherlock watches him leave, frowning suspiciously. John looks at him.**

“Are you going to ask him?” Anderson asked.

**JOHN: Why does your phone make that noise?**

“Oh, you are.”

**SHERLOCK: What noise?**

**JOHN: That noise – the one it just made.**

**SHERLOCK: It’s a text alert. It means I’ve got a text.**

“Way to be obvious, Sherlock,” John mumbled, somewhat annoyed, even after many, many months.

**JOHN: Hmm. Your texts don’t usually make that noise.**

**SHERLOCK: Well, somebody got hold of the phone and apparently, as a joke, personalized their text alert noise.**

**JOHN: Hmm. So, every time they text you ...**

**Right on cue, the phone sighs orgasmically again. Mrs. Hudson stared at both of them with mild horror on her face from the kitchen.**

“Wow. How did you do that, John? That was almost magical, the way as soon as you looked at it, the message came through,” Anderson said.

“I don’t think it was me,” John replied, rolling his eyes.

**SHERLOCK: It would seem so.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Could you turn that phone down a bit? At my time of life, it’s...**

“What are you doing, just ignoring poor Mrs. Hudson like that?” Lestrade asked sternly.

John just shrugged. “Wasn’t my phone making the noise.”

**The latest text message reads:**

*****

**I’m fine since you didn’t ask**

*****

**Sherlock puts down the phone again and goes back to reading the paper which is showing the headline “Refit for Historical Hospital.”**

**JOHN: I’m wondering who could have got hold of your phone because it would have been in your coat, wouldn’t it?**

**Sherlock raises his newspaper so that it’s obscuring his face.**

**SHERLOCK: I’ll leave you to your deductions.**

“Awe! Is he embarrassed?” Sally asked. “He should really just change it, or perhaps just turn the sound off.”

**John smiles.**

**JOHN: I’m not stupid, you know.**

“Oh, really?” Sally asked sarcastically.

**SHERLOCK: Where do you get that idea?**

**Mycroft comes back into the room, still talking on his phone.**

**MYCROFT: Bond Air is go; that’s decided. Check with the Coventry lot. Talk later.**

“Bond Air? Since when are you caught up with pop culture?” Lestrade whispered humorously.

“Since never,” Mycroft replied with a scowl. “I’m not the one who comes up with the names.”

**He hangs up. Sherlock looks at him.**

**SHERLOCK: What else does she have?**

“Because, obviously, it’s not just pictures of that girl. Those Americans wouldn’t be _that_ interested in those, and Mycroft wouldn’t be as worried as he is,” Molly hypothesized.

**Mycroft looks at him enquiringly.**

**SHERLOCK: Irene Adler. The Americans wouldn’t be interested in her for a couple of compromising photographs. There’s more.**

**He stands up and faces his brother.**

**SHERLOCK: Much more.**

**Mycroft looks at him stony-faced. Sherlock walks closer to him.**

**SHERLOCK: Something big’s coming, isn’t it?**

“That much is clear by how they draw attention to these scenes,” Lestrade said, meeting Mycroft’s eyes with his own stony look. “The question is: what is it?”

**MYCROFT: Irene Adler is no longer any concern of yours. From now on you will stay out of this.**

**SHERLOCK (locking eyes with him): Oh, will I?**

**MYCROFT: Yes, Sherlock, you will.**

**Sherlock shrugs and turns away.**

**MYCROFT: Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a long and arduous apology to make to a very old friend.**

“And which old friend would that be?” Anderson asked.

“No concern of yours,” Mycroft answered with an upturned nose and a sneer.

**SHERLOCK (picking up his violin): Do give her my love.**

“ _Her_?” Anderson asked. “How does he know it’s a her?”

“‘How does he know?’ He’s Sherlock Holmes! He can probably guess who it is.” Sally smacked him in the arm.

**He begins to play the National Anthem, “God Save The Queen.” Mycroft rolls his eyes, turns and leaves the room, Sherlock following along behind him while John grins. As Mycroft hurries down the stairs, Sherlock turns back and walks over to the window, still playing.**

“Oh! The Queen? That makes a lot of sense now!” Anderson exclaimed. “Of course, he’d have to make an apology to her, seeing as they didn’t get the photographs back!”

Mycroft cleared his throat quietly and uncomfortably. It was not heard by many, though Lestrade was just close enough to pick up on the familiar tell. It meant that Mycroft was particularly embarrassed, which he always played off as annoyance.

The screen was once again blank, and a new doorway appeared off to the side of the room. The bathrooms were open again for use. Only two stood before the others realized that they should probably go just in case they didn’t get another chance later.

Once everyone was reseated, they began watching again.

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	30. 2x1 Part 5 - A Scandal in Belgravia

“Wait! Before we start, shouldn’t we talk about what happened during the last thing?” Anderson asked.

“What is there to talk about? He met Miss Adler and then she got away with the phone. He failed his assignment,” Sally responded.

“But…we know that he’s not going to fail.”

“And how exactly do you know that?”

“Because it’s still going. Besides, don’t you remember when this was happening?”

“No. I wasn’t there. He was working with a different Inspector, meaning a different division, wasn’t he?”

Anderson looked down. “Oh. I guess you’re right. Then I guess we can keep watching – if we’re not going to talk anymore.”

As he looked back up, the television went back to playing.

**Time passes and now it’s Christmas. Fairy lights are strung up around the window frame of the flat and it’s snowing outside. Inside, the living room is festooned with Christmas decorations and cards, and Sherlock is walking around playing “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” on his violin. Mrs. Hudson is sitting in his chair with a glass in her hand, watching him happily. Lestrade is standing at the entrance to the kitchen holding a wine glass, and John – wearing a very snazzy Christmassy jumper – walks across the room with a cup and saucer in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. As Sherlock finishes the tune with a fancy flourish, Lestrade whistles in appreciation.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Lovely! Sherlock, that was lovely!**

**JOHN: Mhmm, marvellous!**

**LESTRADE: That was very good.**

**Sherlock sketches a small bow to his audience. Mrs. Hudson, apparently a little bit tipsy, giggles up at him.**

“Oh, goodness. I must’ve had a little bit too much of my wine,” Mrs. Hudson said quietly as she watched herself sway slightly on screen.

**MRS. HUDSON: I wish you could have worn the antlers!**

Sally and Anderson burst into laughter. “Imagine it! Sherlock in a pair of antlers, playing the violin! Ha!”

**SHERLOCK: Some things are best left to the imagination, Mrs. Hudson.**

**JOHN (handing her a cup of tea, perhaps in an attempt to sober her up): Mrs. H.**

**A dark-haired woman in her thirties brings over a tray containing mince pies and slices of cake and offers it to Sherlock.**

“Who is that?” Sally asked.

Her question was pointedly ignored.

**SHERLOCK (politely): No thank you, Sarah.**

**Her face falls. John hurries over to her and puts his arm around her as she turns away.**

**JOHN: Uh, no, no, no, no, no. He’s not good with names.**

**SHERLOCK: No, no, no, I can get this.**

**The woman puts down the tray and straightens up, folding her arms and looking at Sherlock rather grimly.**

**SHERLOCK: No, Sarah was the doctor; and then there was the one with the spots; and then the one with the nose; and then ... Who was after the boring teacher?**

**JEANETTE: Nobody.**

**SHERLOCK: Jeanette! (He grins falsely at her.) Ah, process of elimination.**

Mild laughter echoed through the room at John’s expense. “Why would you even bring her home to meet Sherlock. That’s, like, the worst thing that you could do!” Anderson pointed out.

Sally smirked. “For once, you have more sense than John, Anderson.” Anderson puffed out his chest a little. “But don’t let that go to your head!”

“How did you even manage to date all of those women in…what? A few months?” Molly asked.

“I think he was on one of those dating websites, weren’t you John?” Mrs. Hudson asked, much to the doctor’s chagrin.

**John awkwardly shepherds Jeanette away. Sherlock looks across to the door as a new arrival comes in.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, dear Lord.**

**Molly Hooper walks in, smiling shyly and carrying two bags which appear to be full of presents.**

“And there’s Molly. I was wondering when you would show up. Seeing as everyone else is there,” Anderson said, “But where’s Mycroft?”

“You really think that he’d be the one to celebrate Christmas, especially with Sherlock?” Lestrade asked the man in a bland voice.

“I guess not.”

**MOLLY: Hello, everyone. Sorry, hello.**

Molly looked down, blushing because she knew what was about to happen. She felt a spark of anger rise up in her chest along with the embarrassment, and just barely managed to push it down. This scene would do nothing but fan the flames of her horror, so suppressing it early would be to her advantage.

**John walks over to greet her, smiling.**

**MOLLY: Er, it said on the door just to come up.**

**Everyone greets her cheerfully. Sherlock rolls his eyes.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, everybody’s saying hullo to each other. How wonderful!**

“What’s his problem?” Sally asked, glaring at the screen.

“He already doesn’t like Christmas, and get-togethers are also not his thing. You can only imagine how he would get – or not, seeing as it’s right in front of you.”

**Smiling at him nervously, Molly starts to take her coat and scarf off.**

**JOHN (standing ready to take her coat): Let me, er ... holy Mary!**

**Lestrade gawps in similar appreciation as Molly reveals that she’s wearing a very attractive black dress.**

“Now _that_ is a dress that I never thought I’d see you in, Molly,” Sally said. “Usually you’re more…lab coat.”

“Well, it didn’t say what the dress code was, and well… I…”

“You wanted to impress Sherlock, even without knowing that it wouldn’t do that? He’s not that kind of person, Molly,” John said sympathetically.

She glared at him mildly. “Maybe I just wanted to feel good about myself! Maybe it had nothing to do with him!”

**LESTRADE: Wow!**

**MOLLY: Having our Christmas drinkies, then?**

**SHERLOCK (sitting down at the dining table): No stopping them, apparently.**

**MRS. HUDSON: It’s the one day of the year where the boys have to be nice to me, so it’s almost worth it!**

**Molly giggles nervously, her eyes still fixed on Sherlock as he starts typing on John’s laptop. John brings a chair over for her.**

“Oh, you poor dear,” Mrs. Hudson said quietly to Molly. “One of these days he’ll realize just how much you mean to him.”

“I hope so,” Molly replied, so quietly that not even Mrs. Hudson – who was sitting right next to her – could hear.

**JOHN: Have a seat.**

**SHERLOCK: John?**

**JOHN: Mmm?**

**He goes over to see what Sherlock is looking at. Lestrade touches Molly’s arm to get her attention.**

**LESTRADE: Molly? (She turns to him.) Want a drink?**

**As she accepts his offer, John leans over Sherlock’s shoulder to look at the screen.**

**SHERLOCK: The counter on your blog: still says one thousand eight hundred and ninety-five.**

“That must be a sign!” Anderson said. His inner conspiracy theorist was making an appearance once again.

**JOHN (pulling a mock-angry face): Ooh, no! Christmas is cancelled!**

**Sherlock points to the sidebar which has one of the press pictures of him in his deerstalker.**

**SHERLOCK: And you’ve got a photograph of me wearing that hat!**

“It was _your_ idea to wear the hat in the first place,” Lestrade pointed out. “If it’s anyone’s fault for that picture being around, it’s yours.”

“Lestrade,” John whispered. “You’re talking to the telly again.”

**JOHN: People like the hat.**

**SHERLOCK: No, they don’t. What people?**

**He continues looking at the laptop as John walks away. Molly turns to Mrs. Hudson.**

**MOLLY: How’s the hip?**

**MRS. HUDSON: Ooh, it’s atrocious, but thanks for asking.**

“So much for lightening the mood…” Sally muttered.

**MOLLY: I’ve seen much worse, but then I do post-mortems.**

**An awkward silence falls. Molly looks embarrassed.**

Sally stifled a laugh – not at the joke, but at the silent reception to it. “Well, that just made it a whole lot worse.”

**MOLLY: Oh, God. Sorry.**

**SHERLOCK: Don’t make jokes, Molly.**

**MOLLY: No. Sorry.**

**Lestrade hands her a glass of red wine.**

“Red, not white, Molly?”

“Yes, Sally,” she replied, “I prefer red.”

**MOLLY: Thank you. I wasn’t expecting to see you. I thought you were gonna be in Dorset for Christmas.**

**LESTRADE: That’s first-thing in the morning, me and the wife. We’re back together. It’s all sorted.**

**He grins at her.**

**SHERLOCK (without looking up from the computer): No, she’s sleeping with a P.E. teacher.**

Molly frowned. “Why does he always have to say things like that?”

John shrugged. “He’s out of sorts with social norms, but I think it’s all his own way of caring. Remember when he told you to break it off with Moriarty? He thought that he was just looking out for you, even though he didn’t handle it well.”

Molly looked at him, then back at the screen. “I guess…”

**Lestrade’s smile becomes rather fixed. Molly turns to John who is sitting on the arm of his armchair. Jeanette is sitting in the chair itself.**

**MOLLY: And John. I hear you’re off to your sister’s, is that right?**

“Nice save,” Anderson whispered to Molly.

**JOHN: Yeah.**

**MOLLY: Sherlock was complaining.**

**Sherlock raises his eyebrows indignantly. Molly corrects herself.**

**MOLLY: ... saying.**

**Nearby, Lestrade has been running Sherlock’s comment through his mind, and his face slowly becomes a picture of exasperation when he seems to realize that it’s probably true.**

“Aww. Don’t worry, boss. It’ll all work out,” Anderson said. “Eventually.”

**JOHN: First time ever, she’s cleaned up her act. She’s off the booze.**

**SHERLOCK: Nope.**

**JOHN: Shut up, Sherlock.**

“He just can’t help himself, can he?” Sally asked. “Can’t people at least pretend that everything is alright, even for one night?”

“That’s not how his brain works, though,” Molly said softly. “He always has to be right, and always has to be the one to give the answers.”

**SHERLOCK: I see you’ve got a new boyfriend, Molly, and you’re serious about him.**

“Can’t he just stop with the deductions for _one_ night?” John asked rhetorically. He was slightly exasperated, even though it was just for his friend’s sake.

**MOLLY: Sorry, what?**

**SHERLOCK: In fact, you’re seeing him this very night and giving him a gift.**

**JOHN (quietly, exasperated): Take a day off.**

**LESTRADE (taking a glass across to the table and putting it down near Sherlock): Shut up and have a drink.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, come on. Surely, you’ve all seen the present at the top of the bag – perfectly wrapped with a bow. All the others are slapdash at best.**

**He stands up and walks towards Molly, looking at the other presents which aren’t so carefully wrapped.**

“They’re still not that bad. You can tell that she was trying, or else she just would’ve thrown them all into gift bags,” Anderson said.

“That’s true,” Sally mumbled. “You always give up with wrapping – and that’s if you give anyone gifts at all.”

**SHERLOCK: It’s for someone special, then.**

**He picks up the well-wrapped present, looking at the colour of the paper.**

**SHERLOCK: The shade of red echoes her lipstick – either an unconscious association or one that she’s deliberately trying to encourage. Either way, Miss Hooper has lurrrve on her mind. The fact that she’s serious about him is clear from the fact she’s giving him a gift at all.**

**John looks anxiously at Molly as she squirms in front of Sherlock.**

“Who is the gift even for?” Anderson asked.

**SHERLOCK: That would suggest long-term hopes, however forlorn; and that she’s seeing him tonight is evident from her make-up and what she’s wearing.**

**Smiling smugly across to John and Jeanette, he starts to turn over the gift tag attached to the present.**

**SHERLOCK: Obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breasts ...**

“Oh! That’s just going too far!” Sally snarled. “Why does that _freak_ always have to say things like that?” She’d been getting pretty good at not calling Sherlock a freak, mainly because of her job being on the line, but there were times – like this, when Sherlock was being particularly rude – that she couldn’t stop herself. She didn’t even like Molly that much – they’d never become friends – but the need to defend her was strong.

**He trails off as he looks down at the writing on the tag. Written in red ink, the greeting reads:**

*****

**Dearest Sherlock**

**Love Molly xxx**

*****

**Sherlock gazes at the words in shock when he realizes the terrible thing that he has just done. Molly gasps quietly.**

"And yet now, he can actually realize what he’s done,” Molly said through embarrassed almost-tears. “Before meeting you, John, he wouldn’t have been able to put together how what he says makes other people feel.”

“A little too late, though,” John growled, glaring at Sherlock on the screen.

**MOLLY: You always say such horrible things. Every time. Always. Always.**

**As she fights back tears, Sherlock turns to walk away ... but then stops and turns back to her.**

“It’s like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. What’s going on?” Sally asked, frowning at the television.

**SHERLOCK: I am sorry. Forgive me.**

**John looks up, startled and amazed at such a human reaction from his friend. Sherlock steps closer to Molly.**

“See, Molly? You’re the only one to receive a reaction like that,” John said.

“You know what?” Anderson asked. “Sherlock was probably just jealous because he thought you had someone else, but he didn’t know what he was feeling. That’s why he was so mean.”

The others stilled; their eyes widened in (potential) realization.

“That actually makes a lot of sense,” Lestrade said. “How would you react if you’ve never felt jealousy like that before?”

This time when Molly blushed, it wasn’t because of anger or horror.

**SHERLOCK (softly): Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper.**

**He leans forward and gently kisses her on the cheek. It’s a sweet and beautiful moment, which is instantly ruined by the sound of an orgasmic sigh. Molly gasps in shock.**

**MOLLY: No! That wasn’t ... I – I didn’t ...**

**SHERLOCK: No, it was me.**

**LESTRADE: My God, really?!**

“Didn’t you tell him about the texts?” Anderson asked John.

“Even if he didn’t, we would’ve heard them, right?” Sally said. “It’s been months.”

**MOLLY: What?!**

**SHERLOCK: My phone.**

**He reaches into his jacket pocket to get the phone. John narrows his eyes.**

**JOHN: Fifty-seven?**

**SHERLOCK: Sorry, what?**

**JOHN: Fifty-seven of those texts – the ones I’ve heard.**

“And yet, no one else has heard them in all those months,” Sally mumbled.

**Sherlock looks at the message which reads simply:**

*****

**Mantelpiece**

*****

**SHERLOCK (walking to the mantelpiece): Thrilling that you’ve been counting.**

**He picks up a small box wrapped in blood-red paper and tied with black rope-like string. Instantly he flashes back to the colour of Irene’s lipstick, which was identical to this paper.**

“Oh! So, _her_ lipstick you remember!” Sally screamed at the screen.

**SHERLOCK: ’Scuse me.**

**He walks toward the kitchen.**

**JOHN: What – what’s up, Sherlock?**

**SHERLOCK (continuing walking): I said excuse me.**

**JOHN (calling after him): D’you ever reply?**

Then, they saw Molly on the screen. She looked worried – mainly because it seemed very much like Sherlock had a girlfriend already. If the colour of the gift and the sound of the ringtone was anything to go by, they seemed serious. Confusion could only take over from there, as John’s comment rang through her ears. If he never replied, then why wouldn’t he block her? Why wouldn’t he just change the ringtone back?

“Molly, your hands were shaking,” Sally pointed out. “What were you thinking?”

Molly swallowed thickly. “I don’t remember, but I have a pretty good idea.”

**Ignoring him, Sherlock walks into his bedroom, sits on the bed and opens the box. Inside is Irene’s camera phone. He takes it out of the box and looks at it closely, then gazes off into the distance thoughtfully.**

**In his own house – or possibly in an official government residence or even just a fancy office – Mycroft is sitting in an armchair by the fireside.**

“You were just sitting there? What were you doing, brooding?” Anderson asked. “What a horrible way to spend Christmas,” he mumbled to himself.

“Shut up,” Mycroft sneered at him.

**His phone rings, and he takes it from his jacket, looks at the Caller ID and then, with a look of “Good grief!” on his face, he puts the phone to his ear.**

**MYCROFT: Oh, dear Lord. We’re not going to have Christmas phone calls now, are we? Have they passed a new law?**

**SHERLOCK: I think you’re going to find Irene Adler tonight.**

**John has come to the door of the bedroom and stands there listening to the conversation.**

“John, why are you always eavesdropping?” Anderson asked, even though he wasn’t expecting an answer. “It seems like something that you always just…do.”

**MYCROFT: We already know where she is. As you were kind enough to point out, it hardly matters.**

**SHERLOCK: No, I mean you’re going to find her dead.**

**Hanging up the phone, he stands up and walks towards the bedroom door.**

**JOHN: You okay?**

**SHERLOCK: Yes.**

**He pushes the door closed, shutting John out.**

“Sorry to disappoint you, Sherlock, but that’s not something that someone does when they are ‘okay’,” Anderson pointed out.

**At his place, Mycroft stands at the window and gazes out at the falling snow.**

*****

  1. **BARTHOLOMEW’S HOSPITAL. Sherlock and Mycroft walk along a corridor to the morgue and go through the door. Molly is waiting inside. She has changed into trousers and a Christmassy jumper and is wearing her lab coat open over the top of her clothes. A body is lying on the table covered with a sheet.**



“See! That’s more… _you_!” Sally said.

Molly gave her a look. “How would you know? I don’t think we’ve even spoken more than ten words before this.”

Sally shrugged.

**MYCROFT (to Sherlock): The only one that fitted the description. Had her brought here – your home from home.**

“That’s actually an adequate description of the hospital, which makes me realize just how sad Sherlock’s life was,” Sally said, though she muttered the second half under her breath so no one would hear.

**SHERLOCK: You didn’t need to come in, Molly.**

“Does he really care, or did he just not want you to see Irene?” Sally asked, looking at Molly.

“ _I_ think he does care, but he probably _also_ didn’t want her to see Irene,” Anderson answered matter-of-factly.

**MOLLY: That’s okay. Everyone else was busy with ... Christmas.**

“Yeah… not the place you want to be on Christmas…” Lestrade said, looking at the girl with sympathy in his gaze.

**Looking awkward, she gestures to the body.**

**MOLLY: The face is a bit, sort of, bashed up, so it might be a bit difficult.**

**She pulls down the sheet to reveal the face.**

**MYCROFT: That’s her, isn’t it?**

“What _did_ her face look like, Mycroft?” John asked.

“As Miss Hooper so sufficiently put it, she looked ‘bashed up’,” he replied in his typical flat tone.

**SHERLOCK (to Molly): Show me the rest of her.**

**Grimacing, Molly walks along the side of the table, pulling back the sheet as she goes. Sherlock looks along the length of the body once, then turns and starts to walk away.**

**SHERLOCK: That’s her.**

“You know how that looks, right?” Sally asked, looking at John. “To Molly?”

John shrugged. “I wasn’t even there."

**MYCROFT: Thank you, Miss Hooper.**

**MOLLY: Who is she? How did Sherlock recognize her from ... not her face?**

The others gave her looks of sympathy, but Molly had an emotionless mask on – she now knew the answer to that question.

**Mycroft smiles politely at her, then turns and follows his brother.**

“God, Mycroft. You’re still terrible at dealing with people – perhaps more so than your brother!” John accused.

“And you thought differently up until now?” Mycroft raised an eyebrow in question.

“Well, no, but it’s only proving me more right.”

**He finds him standing in the corridor outside, looking out of the window. Walking up behind him, he holds a cigarette over his shoulder.**

**MYCROFT: Just the one.**

**SHERLOCK: Why?**

**MYCROFT: Merry Christmas.**

“You _do_ care,” Mrs. Hudson said sweetly. Then, she frowned. “But you mustn’t give him those darn things. Would ruin his poor young lungs.”

**Sherlock takes the cigarette and Mycroft digs into his coat pocket to find a lighter.**

**SHERLOCK: Smoking indoors – isn’t there one of those ... one of those law things?**

“Since when did Sherlock care about the little laws?” John asked rhetorically, giving a sigh.

**Mycroft lights the cigarette for him.**

**MYCROFT: We’re in a morgue. There’s only so much damage you can do.**

“That’s kind of sad,” Anderson muttered.

“But true,” Sally added.

**Sherlock inhales deeply and then blows the smoke out again.**

**MYCROFT: How did you know she was dead?**

**SHERLOCK: She had an item in her possession, one she said her life depended on. She chose to give it up.**

“Or, she just wanted to play a game,” John muttered under his breath. “What’s with psychopaths and pulling Sherlock this way and that?”

**He takes another drag on his cigarette.**

**MYCROFT: Where is this item now?**

**Sherlock looks around at the sound of sobbing. A family of three people is standing on the other side of the doors at the end of the corridor, cuddled together and clearly grieving the death of someone close to them. Sherlock and his brother turn to look at the family.**

**SHERLOCK: Look at them. They all care so much. Do you ever wonder if there’s something wrong with us?**

John smiled sadly at the screen. “And just for saying that, he’s already better than you, Mycroft.”

The other man sneered at him.

**MYCROFT: All lives end. All hearts are broken. (He looks at his brother.) Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock.**

“That’s something a robot would say,” Anderson whispered to Sally.

**Sherlock blows out another lungful of smoke, then looks down at the cigarette in disgust.**

**SHERLOCK: This is low tar.**

**MYCROFT: Well, you barely knew her.**

“Way to change the subject, Mycroft!” Lestrade said sarcastically.

**SHERLOCK: Huh!**

**He walks away down the corridor.**

**SHERLOCK: Merry Christmas, Mycroft.**

**MYCROFT: And a happy New Year.**

**As his brother continues down the corridor, flicking the ash from his cigarette onto the floor, Mycroft gets out his phone and hits a speeddial.**

“If that’s not suspicious, I don’t know what is.”

“That’s not a very good thing to bet on Sally, considering your job,” John commented.

**MYCROFT (into phone): He’s on his way.**

**He’s talking to John who is still back at the flat.**

“Oh,” Anderson said. “It’s just John.”

**MYCROFT: Have you found anything?**

**JOHN: No. Did he take the cigarette?**

“So… it _wasn’t_ a Christmas present?” Anderson whispered; he sounded confused.

**MYCROFT: Yes.**

**JOHN: Shit. (He looks round to Mrs. Hudson.) He’s coming. Ten minutes.**

**MRS. HUDSON: There’s nothing in the bedroom.**

“Oh, you guys are looking for drugs,” Lestrade said, nodding. “Good. That’s good.”

**JOHN (into phone): Looks like he’s clean. We’ve tried all the usual places. Are you sure tonight’s a danger night?**

**MYCROFT: No, but then I never am. You have to stay with him, John.**

“You know, Mycroft, you don’t show it often, but you really do care about your brother,” Mrs. Hudson said.

**JOHN: I’ve got plans.**

**MYCROFT: No.**

“Though sometimes, you care about him so much you disregard others, even if it’s for the best,” Sally added on to Mrs. Hudson’s early statement.

**He hangs up.**

**JOHN: Mycroft. M...**

**The line goes dead. Chewing the inside of his mouth, he walks across to where Jeanette is sitting on the sofa and sits down beside her.**

**JOHN: I am really sorry.**

“And you’re still going to ditch her anyway,” Sally mumbled angrily.

**JEANETTE: You know, my friends are so wrong about you.**

**JOHN: Hmm?**

**JEANETTE: You’re a great boyfriend.**

“Where is she going with this?” Molly asked.

**JOHN (looking a little startled): Okay, that’s good. I mean, I always thought I was great.**

**JEANETTE: And Sherlock Holmes is a very lucky man.**

**John groans.**

“This again?” Anderson laughed. “See? Everyone sees it!”

**JOHN: Jeanette, please.**

**JEANETTE (bitterly, putting on her shoes): No, I mean it. It’s heart-warming. You’ll do anything for him – and he can’t even tell your girlfriends apart.**

Molly shrugged as if trying to shake a heavy truth from her shoulders. “That’s only because John cares so much and Sherlock just… _doesn’t._ He’s not good with people, and John is.”

**She stands up and heads for the door. He jumps up and follows her as she puts on her coat.**

**JOHN: No, I’ll do anything for you. Just tell me what it is I’m not doing. Tell me!**

**JEANETTE: Don’t make me compete with Sherlock Holmes.**

“No one wants to compete with Sherlock. It just can’t be done.”

**JOHN: I’ll walk your dog for you. Hey, I’ve said it now. I’ll even walk your dog ...**

“How’s _that_ going to solve anything?” Anderson asked.

**JEANETTE: I don’t have a dog!**

**JOHN: No, because that was ... the last one. Okay.**

“Despite how many you’ve dated, you’re _really_ not good with women, John!” Sally said with a scowl.

**JEANETTE: Jesus!**

“Well, not only can Sherlock not tell them apart, but neither can you, John! I’m starting to think that you really _don’t_ care,” Sally continued.

**Picking up her bag, she storms out.**

**JOHN: I’ll call you.**

**JEANETTE: No!**

**JOHN: Okay.**

**Exasperated, he turns back into the room as she runs down the stairs. Mrs. Hudson looks at him sympathetically.**

**MRS. HUDSON: That really wasn’t very good, was it?**

Sally guffawed. “Way to state the obvious, Mrs. H!”

*****

**Shortly afterwards, John is sitting in his chair reading a book. Sherlock comes up the stairs and stops in the doorway of the living room. John looks round at him.**

**JOHN: Oh, hi.**

**Sherlock stands there, his eyes roaming all around the living room.**

“Is it just the low light, or is he high?” Lestrade asked, peering closely at Sherlock’s face. “Because his pupils are very dilated.”

John shrugged. “He was acting normally… Well, as close to normal as Sherlock gets.”

**JOHN: You okay?**

**Sherlock continues to scan the room for a long moment, then turns and walks back to the kitchen door, heading for his bedroom.**

**SHERLOCK: Hope you didn’t mess up my sock index this time.**

“ _Sock index_?” Sally asked.

“Oh! I get it! He knew that they were looking for drugs!” Anderson pointed out.

“Was _that_ what he was doing?”

“I’m pretty sure.”

**His bedroom door slams shut. John puts down his book and sighs heavily.**

*****

**MORNING. 221B. Sherlock is standing at the left-hand window with his back to the living room and playing a sad lament on his violin. John walks into the room and sighs at the sight of him. Mrs. Hudson walks across to the table and picks up the plates, looking at John pointedly to make him realize that Sherlock hasn’t touched his breakfast. John hums resignedly as he takes his jacket from the back of a chair and puts it on. Sherlock stops playing and picks up a pencil to make a notation on a piece of sheet music.**

“Is this his way of showing that he’s depressed?” Sally whispered lowly. “He plays sad music on the saddest of all instruments?”

**MRS. HUDSON: Lovely tune, Sherlock. Haven’t heard that one before.**

**JOHN: You composing?**

“I didn’t know he _wrote_ the music, too!” Anderson stared at the screen with an expression that was somewhere between awe and shock – maybe both.

**SHERLOCK: Helps me to think.**

“You mean ‘helps him think’ when he’s _not_ on drugs?” Sally asked.

The others gave her odd looks. She just shrugged.

“You’re all thinking it.”

**He turns back to the window, lifts the violin and begins to play the same tune again.**

**JOHN: What are you thinking about?**

“Do you really want to know that, John?” Lestrade asked. He looked deep in thought – probably thinking back to all those times he’d asked Sherlock the exact same question, only for the detective to spiral into some long, in-depth stream-of-consciousness that the poor DI couldn’t even hope to follow.

**Sherlock suddenly spins around and puts down the violin. He points at John’s laptop.**

**SHERLOCK (rapidly): The counter on your blog is still stuck at one thousand eight hundred and ninety-five.**

“For what? A few hours? A day? It’s probably just the website he used. Most blog sites can be glitchy,” Anderson said.

**JOHN: Yeah, it’s faulty. Can’t seem to fix it.**

**SHERLOCK (taking out Irene’s camera phone): Faulty – or you’ve been hacked and it’s a message.**

**He pulls up the security lock with its “I AM ---- LOCKED” screen.**

**JOHN: Hmm?**

**Sherlock types “1895” into the phone. The phone beeps warningly and a message comes up reading: “WRONG PASSCODE. 3 ATTEMPTS REMAINING”. The enthusiasm in his eyes dies again.**

**SHERLOCK: Just faulty.**

Anderson whined. “I really thought he got it!”

**He turns away and picks up his violin again.**

**JOHN: Right.**

**Sherlock begins to play the sad tune once more.**

**JOHN: Right. Well, I’m going out for a bit.**

**Sherlock doesn’t respond. John turns and walks to the kitchen where Mrs. Hudson is tidying up.**

**JOHN (quietly): Listen: has he ever had any kind of ... (he sighs) ... girlfriend, boyfriend, a relationship, ever?**

**MRS. HUDSON: I don’t know.**

**JOHN (sighing in frustration): How can we not know?**

“You should ask Mycroft if you want the answer to that question,” Lestrade suggested. “He’s always spying on sherlock anyway. He would be sure to know.”

**MRS. HUDSON: He’s Sherlock. How will we ever know what goes on in that funny old head?**

“Fair point, Mrs. Hudson,” Lestrade then said.

**John smiles sadly.**

**JOHN: Right. See ya.**

**He trots off down the stairs. Mrs. Hudson looks at Sherlock playing his violin at the window, and then leaves the room.**

**Downstairs, John goes out of the front door and pulls it closed. As he turns to go to the left, a woman is standing just to the right of the flat. She calls out to him.**

**WOMAN: John?**

**JOHN: Yeah.**

**He stops and turns around to her as she looks at him flirtatiously.**

**JOHN: Hello.**

**It takes him a moment but then he realizes that she’s very pretty.**

**JOHN: Hello!**

“You’re such a dog, John!” Sally hissed. “I never actually realized it until now, either, but you’re so…!”

“Like you’re any better, Sally?” he shot back.

**WOMAN (walking closer): So, any plans for New Year tonight?**

Anderson’s eyebrows shot up. “It’s already New Years? Wow. No wonder Sherlock was suspicious about the counter.”

**John laughs while his eyes continually roam over her body.**

**JOHN: Um, uh, nothing fixed. Nothing I couldn’t heartlessly abandon. You have any ideas?**

**The woman looks over her shoulder towards the road.**

**WOMAN: One.**

**John follows her gaze and sighs in exasperation when a black car pulls up and stops beside them.**

“And, of course, it’s Mycroft!” Sally said, throwing her hands up.

“Does he do that on purpose to you, John? Send pretty women to pick you up?” Anderson asked.

John scowled. “Just ask him yourself.”

**JOHN: You know, Mycroft could just phone me, if he didn’t have this bloody stupid power complex.**

Mycroft shrugged. “This time, it wasn’t me.”

The others looked at him, shocked – except for John, of course.

“If it wasn’t you, then who was it?” Anderson asked.

Mycroft pointedly ignored him.

**They get into the car and it pulls away ... and takes them to the biggest power complex in the neighbourhood – the empty shell of Battersea Power Station. Pulling up inside the building, John and the woman get out and she leads him through the abandoned structure.**

**JOHN: Couldn’t we just go to a café? Sherlock doesn’t follow me everywhere.**

**Still walking, the woman types onto her phone, then stops and gestures ahead of herself.**

**WOMAN: Through there.**

“Well, she’s mastered Mycroft’s assistant’s overall disdain for life,” Sally muttered. “What was her name again? Anthea?”

“Not Anthea,” Molly corrected.

Sally gave her a look. “Right.”

**John gives her a look, then walks on. The woman turns and heads back the way she came, lifting her phone to her ear.**

**WOMAN (into phone): He’s on his way. You were right – he thinks it’s Mycroft.**

**John reaches a large room and starts talking straight away even though he can’t yet see anybody.**

**JOHN: He’s writing sad music; doesn’t eat; barely talks – only to correct the television.**

“That sounds like stereotypical depression to me…” Anderson whispered softly to himself.

**He walks further into the room and finally a figure begins to step out of the shadows at the other end.**

**JOHN: I’d say he was heartbroken but, er, well, he’s Sherlock. He does all that anyway...**

**He trails off as Irene Adler walks into view.**

**IRENE: Hello, Doctor Watson.**

**She stops some distance away from him and he simply stares at her for several seconds before he finally finds some words.**

**JOHN (quietly, but with a note of pleading in his voice): Tell him you’re alive.**

“Jeanette was right,” Sally said. “You are a good boyfriend for Sherlock if that’s the first thing you’re going to say to someone whom you thought was dead.”

John sighed, but, for once, didn’t correct her.

**IRENE (shaking her head): He’d come after me.**

**JOHN: I’ll come after you if you don’t.**

**IRENE: Mmm, I believe you.**

**JOHN (louder): You were dead on a slab. It was definitely you.**

**IRENE: DNA tests are only as good as the records you keep.**

**JOHN: And I bet you know the record-keeper.**

**IRENE: I know what he likes, and I needed to disappear.**

**JOHN: Then how come I can see you, and I don’t even want to?**

**IRENE: Look, I made a mistake. I sent something to Sherlock for safe-keeping and now I need it back, so I need your help.**

“Of course, you did,” Molly scowled at the woman. “You got into your sick game too deep with poor Sherlock and…!” she trailed off.

**JOHN: No.**

**IRENE: It’s for his own safety.**

**JOHN: So’s this: tell him you’re alive.**

**IRENE: I can’t.**

**JOHN (breathing heavily and fighting back his anger): Fine. I’ll tell him, and I still won’t help you.**

**He turns and starts to walk away.**

**IRENE: What do I say?**

“What kind of question is that?” Anderson asked. “You’ve texted him like, fifty-seven times if John’s counting is accurate.”

**JOHN (furiously, turning back to her): What do you normally say? You’ve texted him a lot.**

“My point exactly,” Anderson said.

**Irene has taken out a phone and holds it up as John stops and glares at her.**

**IRENE: Just the usual stuff.**

**JOHN: There is no ‘usual’ in this case.**

**Irene looks down at her phone and starts to read back messages she has sent to Sherlock.**

**IRENE: “Good morning”; “I like your funny hat”; “I’m sad tonight. Let’s have dinner” ...**

**John looks round at her, startled.**

**IRENE: ... “You looked sexy on ‘Crimewatch.’ Let’s have dinner”; “I’m not hungry, let’s have dinner”.**

**John stares at her in disbelief.**

**JOHN: You ... flirted with Sherlock Holmes?!**

Sally scowled. “Sure, she has. She likes to take risks, can’t you see?”

“You’re just jealous because he turned you down and he didn’t do the same to her,” Anderson muttered to her.

“Shut it!”

**IRENE (still looking at her phone): At him. He never replies.**

**JOHN: No, Sherlock always replies – to everything. He’s Mr. Punchline. He will outlive God trying to have the last word.**

**IRENE: Does that make me special?**

**JOHN: ... I don’t know. Maybe.**

**IRENE: Are you jealous?**

**JOHN: We’re not a couple.**

“Are you sure? You seem pretty jealous to me,” Anderson said.

**IRENE: Yes, you are. There ...**

**She holds up her phone to show John the screen, although he’s too far away to read it. She tells him what she has typed anyway.**

**IRENE: “I’m not dead. Let’s have dinner.”**

“At least she kept it current,” Sally muttered.

**She presses the ‘Send’ button. John turns away momentarily and then turns back to her.**

**JOHN (quietly): Who ... who the hell knows about Sherlock Holmes, but – for the record – if anyone out there still cares, I’m not actually gay.**

**IRENE: Well, I am.**

“Really? What?” Sally, Lestrade, Anderson – even Molly – looked at the screen in complete and utter shock.

“So…all that flirting was…what? Just for show?” Anderson asked. “She was just playing a game?”

“A sick game,” Molly said with an uncharacteristic snarl.

**IRENE: Look at us both.**

**John laughs ruefully. Just then an orgasmic female sigh can be heard a short distance away. In the corridor outside the room, unseen by either of them, Sherlock switches off his phone and rapidly walks away. John starts to walk in the direction of the sound, but Irene holds out her hand to stop him. She looks at him pointedly.**

**IRENE: I don’t think so, do you?**

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Anderson asked.

“Not sure. What did it all mean?” Sally replied.

“Why did she even fake her death? And why send the phone to Sherlock? For a power play? Not even the greatest detective can figure out the code? Or what?” Molly was almost fuming at this point. First, she’d been humiliated at Christmas – once again – then Sherlock’s…whatever-she-was died (or not) and he went into a slump before following John one day on a whim to see that she was really alive – and didn’t even want to tell him about it! Why couldn’t she just mind her own business?

That being said – thought – Molly sat back and waited for the next scene, but the screen just stayed black, and they knew at this point that it would remain that way until their captor was ready to play the next scene.

 _“Her motives are confusing, aren’t they?”_ the screen read. _“I still haven’t figured her out completely.”_

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	31. 2x1 Part 6 - A Scandal in Belgravia

“Do you know when they’ll press play again?” Anderson asked.

They’d been sitting on their couches for a long time, now, just talking or eating or doing otherwise, but it seemed like the screen would never turn on again. There was no semblance of time in the dark room they were in, and if their captor – who’d already foregone the laws of physics - hadn’t assured them that time didn’t pass while they were in the room, they’d all be extremely worried about missing their day-to-day lives.

“You’ve asked that a hundred times, already!” Sally replied, her voice riddled with annoyance.

“Well, maybe this time, he’ll hear it and start the bloody videos again! I’m interested, but also getting really bored right now!” Anderson whined, almost like a small child. He wasn’t a man of patience – they all knew that – and since the detective’s recent death, he’d become far more spontaneous in life. It was like something inside of him snapped and would never be the same.

As if finally responding to his hundredth complaint, the screen exploded with light, continuing exactly where it left off – loud, dramatic music and all.

**Sometime later, Sherlock is walking down Baker Street towards his flat, his gaze distant and lost. As he arrives at the front door of 221B and turns to put his key in the door, his expression sharpens when he realizes that the door has been jemmied open.**

“What…?” Lestrade asked. He seemed in deep concentration as he stared at the screen; he was trying to figure out what the date was for them on-screen – trying to recall what scenario this was.

**Slowly pushing the door open, he goes inside and carefully puts his hand onto the opaque glass window of the interior door before also pushing that one open and stepping through into the hall. Immediately he sees that the door to 221A is ajar, and partway down the hall is a plastic bucket. He takes a quick glance at the various items inside the bucket and sees that they’re cleaning materials: a pair of rubber gloves, a duster, a spray can of what is probably screen and telephone sanitizer, a toilet brush and a bottle of disinfectant, and a couple of other items.**

**Sherlock steps closer to the stairs and sees a couple of scuff marks on the wall just above the risers. He instantly realizes that one of the marks was made by someone awkwardly walking backward up the stairs and having to feel their way with their feet, while the second was made by someone following the first person while facing forwards but being thrown off-balance by something. Looking more closely at the wall he sees a small indentation in the wallpaper. Putting a finger against the dent, his gaze becomes more intense as he deduces that it was formed by someone dragging their hand along the wall, clawing at it in a desperate attempt to stop themselves being hauled backward up the stairs. The depth of the nail mark could only have been made by someone with fairly long nails, and now Sherlock knows that the person being dragged was Mrs. Hudson. Slowly he looks upwards while he visualizes her struggling as she was half-pulled and half-carried upstairs by a couple of men, a third man preceding them. In his mind, he hears her protests of, “Stop it!” at her assailants before she raised her head and cried out an anguished “Sherlock!”**

“Wow…” Anderson said, staring vividly at Sherlock. It was still mind-blowing to him – as well as most of the others – how Sherlock could make up such a scene in his head from just a few details, especially with details that most other people would brush off. He realized that, before, he’d been too jealous and embarrassed by Sherlock revealing his _own_ secrets that he’d completely disregarded the man’s genius – mainly because he plainly couldn’t believe that one man could piece every nearly-unnoticeable clue together so perfectly, but now he was just awed by the man’s brilliance.

**Sherlock stares intensely up the stairs and slowly, without a muscle in his face moving, his expression changes from deductive to outright murderous. Sherlock stands there for a few seconds while his rage builds, and then he gets moving.**

**Not long afterwards he slowly pushes open the door to the living room of 221B. In front of the fireplace Mrs. Hudson is sitting on a dining chair facing the sofa, and behind her stands Neilson, the CIA man who led the raid on Irene’s house. He is holding another pistol with an over-compensatory silencer attached and is aiming the gun at the back of Mrs. Hudson’s head. One of his men is standing looking out of the window but turns when the door opens; the other stands near the sliding door into the kitchen. As Sherlock slowly strolls into the room with his hands clasped behind his back, Mrs. Hudson – already crying quietly – begins to sob a little louder.**

Mrs. Hudson watches herself on screen with a few tears gathering in her eyes. Oh, what a horrible experience _that_ was!

**MRS. HUDSON: Oh, Sherlock, Sherlock!**

**SHERLOCK: Don’t snivel, Mrs. Hudson. It’ll do nothing to impede the flight of a bullet.**

“How can he be so unfeeling?” Sally questioned. This time, rather than the blatant hatred in her voice, it was mostly confusion, because she’d already seen the love and care the old woman had for Sherlock, and the admiration and respect he had for her. How could his affections for his landlady suddenly vanish?

However, her eyes suddenly widened as she realized: he was trying to protect her. For Sherlock, it was clear that he thought emotions were a weakness, and while he seemed to be physically unable to read emotions in others and feel them himself, he was purposefully removing them so that he could stay calm and collected in this situation. Of course! His mind was his greatest weapon, and no one needed emotions to clog up their logic in a situation like this!

**He looks at Neilson.**

**SHERLOCK: What a tender world that would be.**

**MRS. HUDSON (sobbing quietly as she gazes up at him): Oh, please, sorry, Sherlock.**

**NEILSON: I believe you have something that we want, Mr. Holmes.**

“The phone?” Lestrade asked. Honestly, he now remembered what was going on – as Sherlock had phoned him later. He was hoping to find out what had led up to the need for the ambulance.

**SHERLOCK: Then why don’t you ask for it?**

**He walks closer and holds out his right hand towards Mrs. Hudson. She flails towards it, whimpering, and he gently turns back the sleeve of her right hand and looks at the bruises on her wrist.**

**MRS. HUDSON (crying): Sher...**

**NEILSON: I’ve been asking this one. She doesn’t seem to know anything.**

**Sherlock’s gaze rises a little and he sees that the right shoulder of Mrs. H’s cardigan has been ripped at the seam, exposing her skin underneath.**

**NEILSON: But you know what I’m asking for, don’t you, Mr. Holmes?**

“This man had no idea the amount of danger he is in, right now,” Molly whispered. Normally, she wasn’t one for violence, but she was quite excited to see Sherlock beat up those Americans, especially after what they did to Mrs. Hudson; she’d grown to like the lady.

**Sherlock looks a little higher and sees a cut on her right cheek. His eyes flick across to Neilson’s right hand holding the pistol. He has a silver ring on his third finger and there is blood on it. Sherlock raises his head and looks directly at Neilson – but he isn’t deducing him. In very rapid succession he is picking out target points on his body:**

*****

**Carotid Artery**

**Skull**

**Eyes**

*****

**His eyes drop to Neilson’s arm and chest:**

*****

**Artery**

**Lungs**

**Ribs**

*****

Lestrade let out a stunned breath. “Well, _that_ sure seems like it would come in handy, being able to pick out his weaknesses like that.”

The others were silent, and this scene only did more to convince Sally of the actual care Sherlock expressed for Mrs. Hudson because while it wasn’t visible on the surface, watching this scene of his immediate recognition of targets showed the anger that Sherlock felt toward the man. She anticipated watching the detective fight; she’d never witnessed him do so before and was curious to see what he knew.

**He raises his eyes to Neilson’s again.**

**SHERLOCK: I believe I do.**

**Mrs. Hudson whimpers as he releases her hands and straightens up, putting his hands behind his back again.**

“Well, Mrs. H, it sure seems like you know what’s about to happen,” Lestrade commented.

Mrs. Hudson just sent him another smile, though unlike the one she gave john, this one was sly, and didn’t fit as well with her kind-harmless-old-lady persona.

**MRS. HUDSON: Oh, please, Sherlock.**

**SHERLOCK (to Neilson): First, get rid of your boys.**

**NEILSON: Why?**

**SHERLOCK: I dislike being outnumbered. It makes for too much stupid in the room.**

**Neilson hesitates for a moment, then glances at his colleagues.**

**NEILSON: You two, go to the car.**

“I can’t believe that worked,” Anderson said with a huff.

“Of course not,” Sally remarked. “It would never work if _you_ did it.”

**SHERLOCK: Then get into the car and drive away. (He looks back to Neilson.) Don’t try to trick me. You know who I am. It doesn’t work.**

**He loudly clicks the ‘k’ of ‘work.’ The two men leave the room and head down the stairs.**

**SHERLOCK: Next, you can stop pointing that gun at me.**

**NEILSON: So, you can point a gun at me?**

**SHERLOCK (stepping back and spreading his arms to either side): I’m unarmed.**

**NEILSON: Mind if I check?**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, I insist.**

“If it were any other person,” Lestrade began with a sly, teasing grin, “That would be the strangest request.”

Only those who understood his euphemism laughed. The others just sat in confusion, gears turning in their heads as they tried to figure out what he meant.

**Neilson comes around from behind Mrs. Hudson. She whimpers nervously.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Don’t do anything.**

**Neilson walks over to Sherlock and pats his breast pocket and flicks the coat open while Sherlock stands meekly with his arms still spread. Walking around behind him, Neilson starts patting for any hidden weapon at his back. Sherlock rolls his eyes dramatically at Mrs. Hudson, but he is already covertly starting to bend his right arm towards himself. Suddenly, he whips out the sanitizer spray can, twists around and sprays the contents directly into Neilson’s eyes. As Neilson screams, Sherlock rears back and then savagely headbutts him in the face. Neilson falls back onto the coffee table, unconscious, and Sherlock triumphantly flips the can into the air.**

“Whoa…” Sally said.

“Where did that even come from?” Anderson cried in alarm. The man had checked Sherlock and the detective had still managed to hide his weapon.

**SHERLOCK: Moron.**

**Slamming the can onto the dining table, he hurries over to Mrs. Hudson and, tutting – probably in annoyance at what the man has done to her – he drops to his knees in front of her.**

**MRS. HUDSON (tearfully): Oh, thank you.**

**SHERLOCK (gently stroking her face): You’re all right now, you’re all right.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Yes.**

**Sherlock looks over his shoulder towards Neilson’s prone body, his expression still promising murder.**

*****

**Not long afterwards, the black car pulls up outside 221 and John gets out. The car drives away, and he walks to the door, then stops when he sees a handwritten note attached underneath the knocker. He looks around the street for a moment, then pushes the door open and goes inside. Written on the note is:**

*****

**CRIME IN PROGRESS**

**PLEASE DISTURB**

*****

Laughter burst out in the room.

“How did I never know that Sherlock had such a wicked sense of humour?” Anderson exclaimed.

“because you never wanted to get to know him,” John retorted sharply.

**He goes upstairs and hurries into the living room.**

**JOHN: What’s going on?**

**He stops at the sight of Neilson, bound and gagged with duct tape and sitting on the chair near the fireplace. His nose is broken, and blood has run down his face and is dripping from his chin. Mrs. Hudson is sitting on the sofa and Sherlock is in a chair nearby, holding Neilson’s pistol aimed at him with one hand, and his phone to his ear with the other.**

**JOHN: Jeez. What the hell is happening?**

“That would’ve been _my_ first reaction, too,” Lestrade muttered. He could feel the tension rising on the screen. He knew that it was getting closer to when _he_ arrived, but…so far, he’d only seen how the man acquired his broken nose and bloodied face. And he was already bound, so…how did he acquire his _other_ injuries? Did he try to escape?

**SHERLOCK: Mrs. Hudson’s been attacked by an American. I’m restoring balance to the universe.**

**John immediately hurries over to sit down next to her.**

**JOHN: Oh, Mrs. Hudson, my God. Are you all right? (Glaring at Neilson as he puts his arm around her shoulders) Jesus, what have they done to you?**

**Mrs. Hudson breaks down in tears again.**

**MRS. HUDSON (covering her face with her hands): Oh, I’m just being so silly.**

“Don’t ever say that, Mrs. Hudson,” Molly said as she pulled the woman into a tight hug. “You should never have to go through such a thing and believe that you can’t get emotional over it.”

**JOHN (pulling her closer): No, no.**

**Sherlock gets to his feet, still holding the phone to his ear while aiming the gun at Neilson.**

**SHERLOCK (to John): Downstairs. Take her downstairs and look after her.**

**John stands up and helps her to her feet.**

**JOHN (gently): All right, it’s all right. I’ll have a look at that.**

**MRS. HUDSON (tearfully): I’m fine, I’m fine.**

**As she walks out of the room, John steps over to Sherlock, whose eyes are fixed on Neilson.**

**JOHN: Are you gonna tell me what’s going on?**

**SHERLOCK: I expect so. Now go.**

“Because _that’s_ an answer that everyone wants to hear,” Sally said. She, too, wanted to know what was actually going on – and what Sherlock planned to do to the man in the chair. All of the waiting was slowly killing her.

**They look at each other for a moment, then turn their gazes to Neilson and now he’s got two murderous expressions aimed at him. John turns to leave the room but just before his head is completely turned away, a small smile begins to form on his face as if he wants Neilson to understand that he is about to encounter a whole world of hurt.**

**SHERLOCK (into the phone as John walks away): Lestrade. We’ve had a break-in at Baker Street. Send your least irritating officers and an ambulance. (Finally taking his eyes off Neilson, he walks across to the dining table and lays the pistol down on it.) Oh, no-no-no-no-no, we’re fine. No, it’s the, uh, it’s the burglar. He’s got himself rather badly injured.**

**Neilson looks nervous while Sherlock listens to Lestrade’s question.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, a few broken ribs, fractured skull ... suspected punctured lung.**

“What?” Sally asked. “That’s not true! How could that possibly be true when he’s just sitting right there?”

**He looks over his shoulder at Neilson.**

**SHERLOCK (into phone): He fell out of a window.**

There was a silence in the room. They all knew that the man deserved it for what he did to Mrs. Hudson, but most were still shocked that Sherlock would go to such lengths.

**Still looking into Neilson’s eyes, he hangs up.**

*****

**Downstairs in Mrs. Hudson’s kitchen, she and John are standing by the sink while he gently applies some antiseptic to the cut on her cheek with a piece of cotton wool. She flinches.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Ooh, it stings.**

**John nods as he continues cleaning the cut. A moment later a shape plummets down past the window and lands with a crash. John and Mrs. H look at the window.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Ooh. That was right on my bins.**

“Mrs. Hudson!” Molly cried out with a small laugh. The others spared a chuckle as well for the quick-witted landlady’s remark.

**There’s an agonized groan from outside.**

*****

**Sometime later, it’s fully dark outside and an ambulance is only now pulling away from 221. Sherlock is standing outside Speedy’s café with Lestrade, who apparently decided that his least irritating officer was himself.**

“Why did it take so long for you to get there?” Molly asked as she turned to Lestrade.

The man sighed. The best answer that he could give was: “I was trying to find people who wouldn’t irritate Sherlock.”

**LESTRADE: And exactly how many times did he fall out the window?**

Sally grinned but covered it up by pressing a hand to her face and bow her head. “ _Of course_ , you know that Sherlock pushed him.”

“Well, it obvious, isn’t it?” Lestrade asked.

“But you never said anything about it?”

“As far as I know, Sherlock didn’t do anything. The burglar fell out of the window on his own. Slippery railing.” Lestrade replied with the shrug. “Besides, nothing I can do about it now.”

**SHERLOCK: It’s all a bit of a blur, Detective Inspector. I lost count.**

“Hopefully at least twice,” Molly grumbled.

**Not bothering to comment, Lestrade walks away. A little later Sherlock comes in through the kitchen door of 221A and carefully wipes his feet on the doormat. Mrs. Hudson and John are sitting at her small kitchen table. Mrs. H still looks very shaken.**

**JOHN: She’ll have to sleep upstairs in our flat tonight. We need to look after her.**

**MRS. HUDSON: No.**

**SHERLOCK: Of course, but she’s fine.**

**JOHN: No, she’s not. Look at her.**

**Sherlock opens the fridge door and peers inside before picking something up.**

**JOHN: She’s got to take some time away from Baker Street. She can go and stay with her sister. Doctor’s orders.**

**Kicking the fridge door shut, Sherlock frowns at John and bites into a mince pie.**

**SHERLOCK: Don’t be absurd.**

“Yeah, John, that _is_ kind of absurd,” Molly said. “While I care for Mrs. Hudson’s health, I’m sure she’ll be perfectly fine staying at Baker street, as long as you boys get your acts together and don’t leave important things lying around!”

**JOHN: She’s in shock, for God’s sake, and all over some bloody stupid camera phone. Where is it, anyway?**

**SHERLOCK: Safest place I know.**

**Wiping crumbs from his mouth, he looks down at Mrs. Hudson who reaches down inside her top and pulls the phone out of her bra before handing it to Sherlock.**

“That’s…surprisingly kind of him to say,” Sally muttered.

“Sherlock can be kind!” Molly protested. “Sometimes…”

**MRS. HUDSON: You left it in the pocket of your second-best dressing gown, you clot. (She laughs briefly.) I managed to sneak it out when they thought I was having a cry.**

**SHERLOCK (tossing it into the air before putting it in his coat pocket): Thank you.**

**He looks at John.**

**SHERLOCK: Shame on you, John Watson.**

**JOHN: Shame on me?!**

**SHERLOCK: Mrs. Hudson leave Baker Street?**

**He puts a protective arm around her shoulders and pulls her closer to him.**

**SHERLOCK (sternly): England would fall.**

“I guess he _can_ be a regular human sometimes,” Sally murmured to Anderson. They shared a sigh of guilt; the emotion was weighing more heavily on them now that he knew it wasn’t a fraud, but also having learned how compassionate and _normal_ the man could be at times.

**She laughs and strokes his hand. He chuckles gently. John smiles at them both.**

Molly smiled. “What a nice family moment,” she whispered to Mrs. Hudson.

The older woman smiled at the screen fondly. “I’ve come to see the boys as my own sons. It’s been so wonderful to have them around.”

She looked down as the fact that she’d never see Sherlock running around the flat ever again sank in.

Molly just watched on in anguish, which could be mistaken for sorrow for Sherlock’s death, when it was really the burden of her secret weighing down upon her. Mycroft took that moment to meet her eyes secretly and shake his head with a hard look in his eyes. She couldn’t tell anyone or the whole plan would be ruined.

*****

**Later, the boys are back upstairs. John fixes himself a drink in the kitchen and then comes into the living room where Sherlock is taking off his coat.**

**JOHN: Where is it now?**

**SHERLOCK: Where no-one will look.**

**Walking across to the window, he picks up his violin and turns his back to the room.**

“Wait! So, was it in his violin, or…?” Sally’s voice trailed off as she furrowed her eyebrows at the screen.

“I’m sure we’ll find out, eventually, Donovan,” Lestrade said. “And if not, we can just ask John.”

“You think _I’ll_ know where he’s hid it?” John asked with an incredulous tone, though there was a small smile on his lips.

**JOHN: Whatever’s on that phone is more than just pictures.**

**SHERLOCK: Yes, it is.**

**He tinkers with his violin and checks its tuning. John watches him for a moment.**

**JOHN: So, she’s alive then. How are we feeling about that?**

**In the distance, Big Ben begins to toll the hour. Sherlock pulls in a sharp breath.**

**SHERLOCK: Happy New Year, John.**

**JOHN: Do you think you’ll be seeing her again?**

“John! Can’t you tell that he doesn’t want to talk about her?” Lestrade scolded the younger man.

“Talking about her is the only way he’ll get over her,” John argued.

Sally scowled at that statement. “Since when did you become his therapist?”

**Turning around but not yet meeting his eyes, Sherlock picks up his bow and flips it in the air before catching it and then starting to play “Auld Lang Syne,” looking pointedly at John. John gets the message and sits down in his chair while Sherlock turns back to the window and continues to play.**

**Not far away, within sight of St. Paul’s Cathedral, Irene is walking along the street when her phone trills a text alert. Taking the phone from her bag and checking the message, she sees that it reads:**

*****

**Happy New Year**

**SH**

“Wow,” Lestrade said. “Isn’t that the first return text he’s sent her?” He looked at John.

“Yeah…” John replied.

*****

**She looks at the message for a long time before continuing onwards.**

*****

**DAY TIME. ST BART’S. In the Molly lab, Sherlock is looking at an X-ray on a computer screen which is showing the interior parts of a phone. Molly is nearby. He leans closer to the screen and sees four small round dark areas scattered around the phone. He looks exasperated.**

**MOLLY: Is that a phone?**

**SHERLOCK: It’s a camera phone.**

**MOLLY: And you’re X-raying it?**

**SHERLOCK: Yes, I am.**

**MOLLY: Whose phone is it?**

**SHERLOCK: A woman’s.**

**MOLLY: Your girlfriend?**

“Why would you immediately assume that?” Anderson asked.

“Who else’s would it be? His mother’s?” Molly asked in return.

Anderson frowned. “Oh, I don’t know…maybe a suspect for a case?”

Molly’s cheeks brightened in colour.

**SHERLOCK: You think she’s my girlfriend because I’m X-raying her possessions?**

“Jealousy isn’t a good look for you, Molly,” Sally whispered to the red-faced woman.

**MOLLY (laughing nervously): Well, we all do silly things.**

**SHERLOCK: Yes.**

**He lifts his head as if suddenly inspired and he looks round to Molly.**

**SHERLOCK: They do, don’t they? Very silly.**

**She looks confused as he gets to his feet and takes the phone out of the X-ray machine and holds it up.**

**SHERLOCK: She sent this to my address, and she loves to play games.**

**MOLLY: She does?**

“Way to _not_ sound worried, Molly,” Sally intoned harshly.

Molly’s face flushed a more vivid red.

**Sherlock pulls up the “I AM ---- LOCKED” screen and types “221B” into the phone. The phone beeps warningly and a message comes up reading: “WRONG PASSCODE. 2 ATTEMPTS REMAINING”. He looks exasperated and sits down again.**

Anderson sighed. “Too bad it’s not one of those phones that just disables for a few minutes if you get the password wrong enough times.”

Everyone just stared at him for a few seconds.

“What?”

The screen played poor Molly’s worried/jealous expression for a few more seconds before the screen went blank again. Words flashed across the screen. _“Sorry, everyone. Had some urgent business to take care of. The next stretch of the video should come after less of a delay.”_

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	32. 2x1 Part 7 - A Scandal in Belgravia

With less of a delay than the last time – as promised – the video screen started up again and the next stretch was underway.

**SOME MONTHS LATER. 221B. Sherlock reaches the top of the stairs and then stops abruptly outside the kitchen door. He sniffs deeply.**

“What is he doing?” Sally asked.

“Sniffing,” Anderson replied. Of all the things he had to say, the obvious choice would be something entirely unhelpful.

“I know that!” she shrieked back. “I meant _why_ is he doing it? No normal person walks up the stairs and just starts sniffing the air like that.”

John gave her a dead stare. “Maybe because he can _smell_ something?” he said. Just because they could see what was going on, and were shown Sherlock’s thought process, didn’t mean the videos were all-knowing. It had its limits, including their inability to smell anything that Sherlock was obviously smelling. That was a gift in some instances (the dead body).

Sally just looked away, grumbling. That wasn’t what she’d meant, but she accepted that she’d just have to wait. The answer was probably coming anyway.

**Taking a couple more deep breaths, he turns and looks into the kitchen, then walks across to the window and checks it, realizing that it is open. Turning and sniffing again, he starts to walk slowly towards his bedroom just as the downstairs door slams and feet start trotting up the stairs. Reaching his room, he pushes the door open as John comes into the kitchen with bags of groceries. Sherlock walks into the bedroom and turns to stand and look down at the bed. John notices him.**

“John…did you manage to get through your shopping without having a row with the machine?” Lestrade whispered to him, teasingly. All that got him was a light slap on the shoulder and a grim frown.

**JOHN: Sherlock ...**

**SHERLOCK: We have a client.**

**JOHN: What, in your bedroom?!**

“Why are you so surprised, John?” Lestrade asked. “Could you possibly be…jealous?”

“I am not! Sherlock can have whatever women he wants over! I don’t care! It’s not my place to say anything!” John protested.

(There was absolutely no comment on whether Lestrade meant jealous of Sherlock having someone else, or Sherlock getting a woman before him. They knew better than to open _that_ can of worms while John was in a mood.)

**He walks along the passage and into the bedroom, then his jaw drops when he sees the bed.**

**JOHN: Ohhh.**

**Irene – fully clothed – is asleep in Sherlock’s bed.**

“He was sniffing because he could smell her perfume,” Molly told Sally helpfully, though her tone was mildly depressed. The latter woman glanced at her with a glint of something in her eyes; perhaps it was pity, but it could have also been incredulity.

*****

**Sometime later Irene has apparently showered, as her hair is loose and damp. She is wearing one of Sherlock’s dressing gowns and is sitting in his chair in the living room. The boys are sitting at the dining table looking at her.**

“She certainly looks agitated,” Anderson pointed out.

“Maybe because people are hunting her down!” Sally snapped.

“How do you know that?”

**SHERLOCK: So, who’s after you?**

**IRENE: People who want to kill me.**

Sally just gestured wildly to the screen as she sent a pointed look towards her former partner. He may have earned a place on the team as a forensic scientist, but he was terrible at reading situations. Maybe it was easier if the person was already dead? Or maybe it was just because he was too distracted by her looks. Sally didn’t care; she was right; Anderson was stupid.

**SHERLOCK: Who’s that?**

**IRENE: Killers.**

**JOHN: It would help if you were a tiny bit more specific.**

“Way to be sarcastic, John,” Sally sniped.

**SHERLOCK: So, you faked your own death in order to get ahead of them.**

**IRENE: It worked for a while.**

“Being legally dead for six months is definitely a feat not easily achieved,” John admitted. Still, if someone wanted her dead that badly, six months wasn’t nearly long enough.

**SHERLOCK: Except you let John know that you were alive, and therefore me.**

**IRENE: I knew you’d keep my secret.**

**SHERLOCK: You couldn’t.**

**IRENE: But you did, didn’t you? Where’s my camera phone?**

“She always sounds so smug…” Molly said quietly.

**JOHN: It’s not here. We’re not stupid.**

“You mean _Sherlock_ isn’t stupid,” Anderson said with a snarky grin.

John glared. “Just because I’m not as smart as Sherlock doesn’t mean I’m completely inadequate!”

“You get into rows with checkout machines,” Sally pointed out.

John wisely shut his mouth with a retort dying on his tongue.

**IRENE: Then what have you done with it? If they’ve guessed you’ve got it, they’ll be watching you.**

**SHERLOCK: If they’ve been watching me, they’ll know that I took a safety deposit box at a bank on the Strand a few months ago.**

**IRENE: I need it.**

**JOHN: Well, we can’t just go and get it, can we?**

**He looks round to Sherlock, inspired.**

**JOHN: Molly Hooper-**

“How come Molly has access to Sherlock’s safety deposit box?” Lestrade asked.

John shrugged. “We had to have _someone_ else that we could trust.”

**-She could collect it, take it to Bart’s; then one of your homeless network could bring it here, leave it in the café, and one of the boys downstairs could bring it up the back.**

**SHERLOCK (smiling): Very good, John. Excellent plan, with intelligent precautions.**

“How come he never gave _me_ those kinds of compliments?” Anderson grumbled sadly.

“Because he doesn’t like you,” Lestrade said. “And because I also feel like he’s already done something similar.”

**JOHN: Thank you. (He picks up his phone.) So, why don’t ... Oh, for ...**

**He has just seen Sherlock take the camera phone out of his jacket pocket and hold it up. Sherlock looks at the phone closely as Irene stands up.**

“See, like I said. And it wasn’t really a compliment anyway, I don’t think.”

**SHERLOCK: So, what do you keep on here – in general, I mean?**

**IRENE: Pictures, information, anything I might find useful.**

“Define, _useful_ ,” Anderson said, looking a bit confused – as per usual.

**JOHN: What, for blackmail?**

**IRENE: For protection. I make my way in the world; I misbehave. I like to know people will be on my side exactly when I need them to be.**

“You mean under your thumb when you need them to be,” Molly growled. If she kept the scowl on her face any longer it would permanently etch the lines into her face.

**SHERLOCK: So how do you acquire this information?**

**IRENE: I told you – I misbehave.**

**SHERLOCK: But you’ve acquired something that’s more danger than protection. Do you know what it is?**

**IRENE: Yes, but I don’t understand it.**

“No wonder it’s dangerous to her if she doesn’t understand it. She can’t exactly use it if it doesn’t make a difference otherwise if she shares it,” Lestrade said thoughtfully.

**SHERLOCK: I assumed. Show me.**

**Irene holds out her hand for the phone. Sherlock holds it up out of her reach.**

**SHERLOCK: The passcode.**

Sally nodded at the screen. “Good strategy, I must admit…”

**She continues to hold her hand out, and eventually, Sherlock sits forward and hands her the phone. Activating it and holding it so he can’t see the screen or the keypad, she types in four characters. The phone beeps warningly.**

**IRENE: It’s not working.**

**SHERLOCK (standing up and taking the phone from her): No, because it’s a duplicate that I had made, into which you’ve just entered the numbers one-oh-five-eight.**

**He walks over to his chair in which she was just sitting and retrieves the real camera phone from under the cushion.**

“It was seriously under the cushion the whole time?” Sally exclaimed.

**SHERLOCK: I assumed you’d choose something more specific than that but, um, thanks anyway.**

**He pulls up the “I AM ---- LOCKED” screen and types “1058” into the phone. He looks at her smugly but then the phone beeps warningly and a message comes up reading: “WRONG PASSCODE. 1 ATTEMPT REMAINING”. He stares in disbelief.**

**IRENE: I told you, that camera phone was my life. I know when it’s in my hand.**

“So close!” Sally said.

**SHERLOCK: Oh, you’re rather good.**

**IRENE (smiling at him): You’re not so bad.**

**She holds out her hand again and takes the phone from him. John frowns at the pair.**

**JOHN (abruptly): Hamish.**

**They both turn to look at him.**

Similarly, everyone in the room looked at him in confusion.

**JOHN: John Hamish Watson – just if you were looking for baby names.**

**Sherlock frowns in confusion.**

**IRENE: There was a man – an MOD official. I knew what he liked.**

**Walking a short distance away from the boys so they can’t see her screen or keypad, she types in her real passcode and calls up a photo.**

**IRENE: One of the things he liked was showing off. He told me this email was going to save the world. He didn’t know it, but I photographed it. (She hands the phone to Sherlock.) He was a bit tied up at the time. It’s a bit small on that screen – can you read it?**

Mycroft sighed in disappointment as he realized what was going on. He began running through his head as to whether that man had been fired yet for his grievous mistake.

**Sherlock sits down on the other side of the table to John and narrows his eyes at the photograph. The top of the email – possibly the subject line – reads:**

*****

**007 Confirmed allocation**

*****

**Underneath in smaller print is a string of numbers:**

*****

**4C12C45F13E13G60A60B61F34G34J60D12H33K34K**

*****

**SHERLOCK: Yes.**

**IRENE: A code, obviously. I had one of the best cryptographers in the country take a look at it – though he was mostly upside down, as I recall. Couldn’t figure it out.**

**Sherlock leans forward, concentrating on the screen.**

**IRENE: What can you do, Mr. Holmes?**

**She leans over his shoulder.**

**IRENE: Go on. Impress a girl.**

**Time slows down as she begins to lean towards him. Oblivious to her approach, the numbers in the code race through Sherlock’s mind and begin to form into shapes for him. Opposite him, John has taken a drink of tea and is lowering his mug in slow motion towards the table. By the time the mug reaches the table and Irene has leaned in and kissed Sherlock’s cheek, he has already solved it. His eyes drift momentarily in her direction as she pulls back smiling, but then he concentrates on the screen again.**

**SHERLOCK (speaking rapidly): There’s a margin for error but I’m pretty sure there’s a Seven Forty-Seven leaving Heathrow tomorrow at six-thirty in the evening for Baltimore. Apparently, it’s going to save the world. Not sure how that can be true but give me a moment; I’ve only been on the case for eight seconds.**

**He looks at John’s blank face in front of him, then glances over at Irene who hasn’t even fully straightened up yet.**

The others – except for Mycroft, who just looked down in aggravation – stared blankly at the screen as well, perfectly mirroring John’s expression there. Molly, while also surprised, was slightly red in the face. It was from anger, of course: anger and pure, unadulterated jealousy.

**SHERLOCK: Oh, come on. It’s not code. These are seat allocations on a passenger jet. Look ...**

**He shows the screen to John.**

**SHERLOCK (quick fire): There’s no letter ‘I’ because it can be mistaken for a ‘1’; no letters past ‘K’ – the width of the plane is the limit. The numbers always appear randomly and not in sequence but the letters have little runs of sequence all over the place – families and couples sitting together. Only a Jumbo is wide enough to need the letter ‘K’ or rows past fifty-five, which is why there’s always an upstairs. There’s a row thirteen, which eliminates the more superstitious airlines. Then there’s the style of the flight number – zero-zero-seven – that eliminates a few more; and assuming a British point of origin, which would be logical considering the original source of the information and assuming from the increased pressure on you lately that the crisis is imminent, the only flight that matches all the criteria and departs within the week is the six-thirty to Baltimore tomorrow evening from Heathrow Airport.**

Anderson’s jaw was nearly at the floor, but he somehow still managed to breathe out a single word. “Wow…”

**By now he has stood up, and now he lowers the phone and looks down at Irene, who gazes up at him in admiration.**

**SHERLOCK: Please don’t feel obliged to tell me that was remarkable or amazing. John’s expressed the same thought in every possible variant available to the English language.**

John blushed.

**IRENE (intensely): I would have you right here on this desk until you begged for mercy twice.**

Everyone in the room flinched in surprise and slight disgust. Molly’s face turned a shade darker in her aggravation.

“Careful, Molly. Envy is the green-eyed monster,” Mycroft whispered to her.

**The two of them stare at each other for a long moment.**

“This is getting a bit awkward…don’t you think?” Sally asked, looking around at the others.

She was met with several nods of affirmation.

**SHERLOCK (with his eyes still locked on Irene’s): John, please can you check those flight schedules; see if I’m right?**

**JOHN (vaguely, overcome): Uh-huh. I’m on it, yeah.**

“Poor confused John,” Sally said slyly.

**Clearing his throat, he starts to type on his laptop. Sherlock and Irene continue to stare at each other.**

**SHERLOCK: I’ve never begged for mercy in my life.**

**IRENE (emphatically): Twice.**

“Is anyone else _really_ uncomfortable with this?” Anderson asked.

“That’s just because you’re imagining it! Stop! You’re a creep!” Sally retorted.

“I can’t _not_! They’re being so graphic!”

**JOHN (looking at his screen): Uh, yeah, you’re right. Uh, flight double oh seven.**

**SHERLOCK (looking round at him): What did you say?**

**JOHN: You’re right.**

“Really, John? You think _that’s_ what he wanted to hear twice?” Molly asked.

“He’s got the biggest ego of any man I know,” John replied reasonably with a shrug.

Molly shrugged in response, conceding his point. “Well, you can’t argue with that.”

**SHERLOCK: No, no, no, after that. What did you say after that?**

**JOHN: Double oh seven. Flight double oh seven.**

**SHERLOCK (quietly to himself): Double oh seven, double oh seven, double oh seven, double oh seven ...**

**Pushing Irene out of the way, he begins to pace.**

**SHERLOCK: ... something ... something connected to double oh seven ... What?**

**As he continues to pace and mutter the numbers to himself, Irene puts her other phone behind her back and begins to type blind on it:**

“That’s not suspicious at all…” Sally said, eyes narrowing at the screen.

*****

**747 TOMORROW 6:30 PM HEATHROW**

*****

**The message is sent to the phone of Jim Moriarty. Standing in Westminster very near the Houses of Parliament, he takes out his phone and reads the message.**

“She was working for Moriarty the whole time?” Sally exclaimed in panic. How could all of these people be so interconnected? Was the only reason Sherlock _met_ Irene because of Moriarty’s involvement? Probably… Now that she could see that he was clearly the villain and clearly not just an actor playing out one of Sherlock’s sick fantasies, she wondered just how much of everything was administrated by the psychopath.

**Back at 221B, Sherlock has walked to the fireplace and is standing in front of the mirror with his eyes closed.)**

**SHERLOCK (quietly): Double oh seven, double oh seven, what, what, something, what?**

**His eyes snap open as he begins to remember and he turns and looks at the living room door, remembering Mycroft standing on the landing talking into his phone.**

**MYCROFT (in flashback): Bond Air is go.**

**Sherlock walks towards the door.**

**MYCROFT (in flashback): Bond Air is go. ... Bond Air is go.**

“Of course, _now_ you remember…” Mycroft murmured with a sigh.

**While the words continue to echo in Sherlock’s mind, at Westminster Jim is typing a message onto his phone:**

*****

**Jumbo Jet. Dear me Mr. Holmes, dear me.**

*****

**He presses Send and the message wings its way up into the air. As if watching it go, Jim raises his eyes towards Big Ben, the very image of the seat of the British government and blows a long and loud raspberry at it.**

“He certainly has no tact,” Lestrade said, glaring at the man who caused the death of his friend (though Sherlock would never admit it).

**At Mycroft’s house/residence/fancy office, he picks up his phone from the dining table and looks at a newly arrived message. It reads:**

*****

**Jumbo Jet. Dear me Mr. Holmes, dear me.**

“Good job, Sherlock,” Sally muttered. “Way to go.”

*****

**Time passes and Mycroft returns to the chair at the end of the dining table and sinks down into it, running his hand over his face and clearly still shocked by the turn of events.**

**More time passes and Mycroft has removed his jacket and has a glass of brandy in front of him. His hands are folded in front of his mouth and he is lost in wide-eyed and horrified thought.**

**Much later, as night begins to fall, Mycroft’s face is furrowed with anguish and his eyes are still wide at the horror which only he knows about. The glass beside him is empty. Slowly he closes his eyes and sinks his head into his hands in despair.**

*****

**NIGHT TIME. 221B. Sherlock sits in his armchair gently plucking the strings of his violin. In his mind, he can still hear Mycroft’s phone call.**

**MYCROFT (voiceover): Bond Air is go, that’s decided. Check with the Coventry lot.**

**Sherlock finally rouses a little and looks up.**

**SHERLOCK: Coventry.**

**Irene, still wearing Sherlock’s dressing gown and with her hair down, is curled up in John’s chair watching him closely.**

Sally and Molly growled lowly at the sight of her.

**IRENE: I’ve never been. Is it nice?**

**SHERLOCK: Where’s John?**

**IRENE: He went out a couple of hours ago.**

**SHERLOCK: I was just talking to him.**

**IRENE (smiling): He said you do that. What’s Coventry got to do with anything?**

**SHERLOCK: It’s a story, probably not true. In the Second World War, the Allies knew that Coventry was going to get bombed because they’d broken the German code, but they didn’t want the Germans to know that they’d broken the code, so they let it happen anyway.**

**IRENE: Have you ever had anyone?**

Molly spluttered. “What? What does that have to do with anything?”

**Sherlock frowns at her blankly.**

**SHERLOCK: Sorry?**

John sighed. “There are just some things that he doesn’t see…” he muttered.

**IRENE: And when I say “had,” I’m being indelicate.**

**SHERLOCK: I don’t understand.**

Most of the people in the room were quite shocked to hear those words coming out of the detective’s mouth, even if it was obvious what it was that he didn’t understand. They’d never thought in their wildest dreams that he’d ever admit he didn’t understand something out loud.

**IRENE: Well, I’ll be delicate then.**

**Getting up from the chair she walks over and kneels in front of Sherlock, putting her left hand on top of his right hand and curling her fingers around it.**

**IRENE: Let’s have dinner.**

“Is she really interested in him or is this just all a plot? I really can’t tell for sure, but either way, he’s the worst at dating that I’ve ever seen,” Sally commented offhandedly.

“It really wanted a plot – not all of it, at least,” John said. “Whether or not he’s _that_ oblivious when it comes to the personal feelings of others…I think that’s just how Sherlock works.”

**SHERLOCK: Why?**

**IRENE: Might be hungry.**

**SHERLOCK: I’m not.**

**IRENE: Good.**

**Hesitantly, Sherlock sits forward a little and slowly turns his right hand over, curling his fingers around her wrist.**

**SHERLOCK: Why would I want to have dinner if I wasn’t hungry?**

Anderson frowned at the screen. “Honestly, is he just playing along, or does he _really_ not know what she means. She’s being kind of _obvious_ , as he’d put it.”

“You know Sherlock. In spite of his self-proclaimed genius, he doesn’t pick up on emotional cues like the rest of us,” Sally whispered to him.

**Slowly Irene begins to lean forward, her gaze fixed on his lips.**

**IRENE (softly): Oh, Mr. Holmes ...**

**Sherlock’s fingers gently stroke across the underside of her wrist.**

Anderson pointed to the screen with a sharp movement. “There! See? He’s totally into it! You can’t tell me that he’s being completely platonic about this!” he hissed in Sally’s ear.

**IRENE: ... if it was the end of the world, if this was the very last night, would you have dinner with me?**

**MRS. HUDSON (calling up the stairs): Sherlock!**

**Sherlock’s eyes slide towards the door.**

Sally let out a cackle. “You’re either the best or the worst landlady in history!”

Mrs. Hudson, who hadn’t realized what she’d interrupted at the time, now stared at the screen with the slightest colour in her cheeks. “Oh, dear…”

**IRENE (ruefully): Too late.**

**SHERLOCK: That’s not the end of the world; that’s Mrs. Hudson.**

**Irene pulls her hand free and stands up, walking away from him as Mrs. Hudson comes in with none other than Plummer from the Palace.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Sherlock, this man was at the door. Is the bell still not working?**

**She turns around to Plummer and points at Sherlock.**

**MRS. HUDSON: He shot it.**

**SHERLOCK (tetchily, to Plummer): Have you come to take me away again?**

**PLUMMER: Yes, Mr. Holmes.**

**SHERLOCK: Well, I decline.**

**PLUMMER (taking an envelope from his jacket and offering it to him): I don’t think you do.**

**Sherlock snatches it from him and opens it. Inside is a Business Class boarding pass for Flyaway Airways in the name of Sherlock Holmes for flight number 007 to Baltimore, scheduled to leave at 18.30.**

Everyone immediately turned to Mycroft.

“Seriously? He messes up your plans so, what? You just give him a ticket on the plane that you’ve planned to crash?”

Mycroft scowled back at John. “That’s not it at all,” he said.

“Then what is it?”

“I’m sure you’ll find out. These videos _are_ meant to give us answer, after all,” he said with a scoff.

**Very shortly afterwards, Sherlock has put on his coat and is getting into the back of a car outside the flat. As Plummer gets into the passenger seat and the car drives away, Irene stands at the window of the flat and watches them go.**

*****

**In the car, Sherlock gets out the plane ticket again, then tells Plummer what he has deduced.**

**SHERLOCK: There’s going to be a bomb on a passenger jet. The British and American governments know about it but rather than expose the source of that information they’re going to let it happen. The plane will blow up. Coventry all over again. The wheel turns. Nothing is ever new.**

**Neither Plummer nor the driver responds to him in any way. Sometime later the car arrives at Heathrow Airport and is driven past hangars to a 747 Jumbo Jet parked on the tarmac. The car stops near the plane and Sherlock gets out and walks over to the steps which lead up to the entry door. A familiar figure is standing at the bottom of the steps. It’s Neilson.**

**SHERLOCK (nonchalantly, in a deliberately fake American accent): Well, you’re lookin’ all better. How ya feelin’?**

**NEILSON: Like putting a bullet in your brain ... sir.**

“Isn’t he the guy that Sherlock threw out the window?” Sally asked, squinting at the man waiting at the bottom of the stairs.

Mrs. Hudson shuddered as she recalled his brutal interrogation of her.

**Sherlock lets out a quiet snigger and starts to walk up the steps.**

**NEILSON: They’d pin a medal on me if I did ...**

**Sherlock stops.**

**NEILSON (insincerely): ... sir.**

**Sherlock half-turns back towards him, then apparently decides he can’t be bothered and continues up the steps. Inside, he pulls back the curtain obscuring the passenger seating and walks into the aisle. The lighting is very low and it’s hard to see. There are people sitting in almost all the seats but none of them is moving or speaking or showing any signs of life at all. Frowning, he walks forward and looks more closely at the nearest passengers. An overhead light shows more clearly the faces of two men sitting beside each other and Sherlock now realizes the truth: they are dead. Although they’re not yet showing any signs of decomposition, their skin is very grey, and they’ve clearly been dead for some time. He turns and looks to the passengers on the other side of the aisle, turning on another overhead light to get a better view. The man and woman sitting there are also long dead.**

“Well…” Sally said, reeling back in disgust, “that’s not at all disturbing.”

**As he straightens up, realizing that everyone on board the plane must be in the same condition, his brother speaks from the other end of the section.**

**MYCROFT: The Coventry conundrum.**

**Sherlock turns as Mycroft pushes back the curtain and steps through into the cabin. For the first part of the ensuing conversation, he talks softly, almost as if out of respect for the dead bodies in front of him.**

**MYCROFT: What do you think of my solution?**

**Sherlock gazes around the cabin, still taking it all in.**

**MYCROFT: The flight of the dead.**

**SHERLOCK: The plane blows up mid-air. Mission accomplished for the terrorists. Hundreds of casualties, but nobody dies.**

**MYCROFT: Neat, don’t you think?**

**Sherlock smiles humourlessly.**

**MYCROFT: You’ve been stumbling round the fringes of this one for ages – or were you too bored to notice the pattern?**

**Sherlock flashes back in his mind to the two little girls sitting in his living room.**

**LITTLE GIRL: They wouldn’t let us see Granddad when he was dead.**

**He lifts his head a little, remembering the creepy guy sitting in the same chair on a different occasion, holding a funeral urn.**

**CREEPY GUY: She’s not my real aunt. I know human ash.**

A few people in the room shivered. They didn’t want to know how he knew that.

**MYCROFT: We ran a similar project with the Germans a while back, though I believe one of our passengers didn’t make the flight.**

**Sherlock flashes back to the car with the body in the boot and the passport stamped in Berlin airport.**

**MYCROFT: But that’s the deceased for you – late, in every sense of the word.**

“Don’t even try to make jokes, Mycroft. They always fall flat,” John said.

**SHERLOCK: How’s the plane going to fly? (He answers himself immediately.) Of course: unmanned aircraft. Hardly new.**

**MYCROFT: It doesn’t fly. It will never fly. This entire project is cancelled. The terrorist cells have been informed that we know about the bomb. We can’t fool them now. We’ve lost everything. One fragment of one email, and months and years of planning…finished.**

“All because Sherlock wanted to show off for his little _girlfriend_ ,” Sally sneered.

**SHERLOCK: Your MOD man.**

**MYCROFT: That’s all it takes: one lonely naïve man desperate to show off, and a woman clever enough to make him feel special.**

“You’re not talking about the MOD man anymore, are you?” Lestrade asked.

Mycroft scowled at him. “Of course not.”

**SHERLOCK (quirking an eyebrow): Hmm. You should screen your defence people more carefully.**

**MYCROFT (loudly, furiously): I’m not talking about the MOD man, Sherlock; I’m talking about you.**

**He slams the tip of his umbrella on the floor. Sherlock frowns genuinely confused.**

**MYCROFT (more softly): The damsel in distress. (He smiles ironically.) In the end, are you really so obvious? Because this was textbook: the promise of love, the pain of loss, the joy of redemption; then give him a puzzle ... (his voice drops to a whisper while he twirls the end of his umbrella in the air) ... and watch him dance.**

**SHERLOCK: Don’t be absurd.**

**MYCROFT: Absurd? How quickly did you decipher that email for her? Was it the full minute, or were you really eager to impress?**

**IRENE (from behind Sherlock): I think it was less than five seconds.**

“Wait. How did _she_ get there all of a sudden?” Sally asked.

Molly’s scowl just resurfaced, but she kept her lips shut tightly.

**Sherlock spins around to see her standing at the end of the cabin, dressed beautifully, fully made up and with her hair perfectly coiffured. This is The Woman at her immaculate best.**

**MYCROFT (ruefully to Sherlock): I drove you into her path. (He pauses momentarily.) I’m sorry. (He lowers his eyes.) I didn’t know.**

**Sherlock is still looking at Irene as she walks towards him.**

**IRENE: Mr. Holmes, I think we need to talk.**

**SHERLOCK: So do I. There are a number of aspects I’m still not quite clear on.**

**IRENE (walking past him): Not you, Junior. You’re done now.**

Sally sucked in a breath through her teeth. “Oooh. That must sting.” She looked at Anderson. “Don’t you think?”

Anderson shook his head. “Finally, someone who can deal it back to him and we can’t sit here and enjoy it.”

**She continues down the aisle towards Mycroft. Sherlock turns and watches her go as she activates her phone and holds it up to show his brother.**

**IRENE: There’s more...loads more. On this phone I’ve got secrets, pictures and scandals that could topple your whole world. You have no idea how much havoc I can cause and exactly one way to stop me – unless you want to tell your masters that your biggest security leak is your own little brother.**

“You too?” Sally asked Mycroft. “Wow, and she’s working for Moriarty. That’s a scary thought.”

One look from the elder Holmes and her teeth clacked together. She nearly bit off her tongue.

**Mycroft can no longer hold her gaze and turns his head away, lowering his eyes.**

“It seems like that’s a good place to stop,” Lestrade said as the screen went to black yet again. He leaned back in his seat, then looked around at everyone. His eyes stopped on John. “How much longer is this, anyway, you reckon?”

John just shrugged. “I don’t know everything. As far as I know, this is about Sherlock and I’m just in it a lot because we’re usually solving crimes together. Though, it’ll probably have Irene’s death in it. This section has mainly been focused on her.”

“Seems reasonable enough. Then what’s after that?”

“It hasn’t shown all of our adventures. Only the major ones – the ones only involving Moriarty in some way, I think. Our next major case was _Hounds_ of Baskerville, but I’m not sure if it’ll show.”

Anderson leaned back, too. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.” He knew one thing for sure. He was really getting into this; he couldn’t wait for what was going to happen next.

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	33. 2x1 Part 8 - A Scandal in Belgravia

To say that they weren’t getting a little tired of watching a screen at this point would be a big, fat lie. Sure, the contents of their collective kidnapping sure were interesting and gave them insight into the late detective’s life and motives far beyond what they ever thought they’d get. It was the screen that was the problem. The darkness and the light coming together strained old eyes and brought subtle throbbing around the sockets.

They needed a little break.

Luckily, their captor seemed to think the same thing, because the television suddenly began to sink into the floor.

“Wait. What’s going on? That couldn’t have been it!” Anderson cried, leaping up – or trying to, at least. He stumbled over his own feet and fell flat on his face. By the time he managed to rise, the television was gone, the floor becoming seamless as if it was never there.

His question wasn’t asked in vain, however, as the walls changed, too, slowly falling away to become floor to ceiling windows. Gentle morning light filtered in through the slightly tinted glass. It cast lazy shadows over the fluffy shag carpet, sinking and drifting over the creases and crevices. It illuminated the room, revealing a table of refreshments that they hadn’t seen before. Had it been there before?

“I guess we’re taking a break,” Lestrade said, standing. He went over to the table and filled a mug with coffee. “Good thing, too; my eyes were getting a bit sore.”

There were some grumbles of agreement as the others rose as well, pouring various refreshments from tea to apple juice. As Molly sat down with her earl grey, a plate of biscuits appeared next to her. She smiled before plucking one up and taking a nibble.

The only one who didn’t seem pleased with the little intermission was Mycroft, who was glaring into the air. He didn’t want to take a break. That meant that it would take even longer to get through the seemingly endless stream of illegally acquired footage of his little brother. When would it end? When Sherlock died? Would it go further because he wasn’t really dead? Why couldn’t he just go back to work so that his paperwork wouldn’t pile up while he was gone?

Oh. Wait. Time didn’t move while they were in this strange bubble within dimensions – if that was even where they were. Mycroft didn’t believe in magic, but he wasn’t above giving the possibility a nod of affirmation, given all of the other crazy things that were happening around them. There was no logical way that their captor could’ve gotten the footage that they were watching, so he had to assume foul play – magic. Then again, perhaps this was all a hallucination and none of it was really real. He’d find out when it ended – _if_ it ended.

In the meantime, Mycroft and the others played along, sipping their drinks and enjoying the natural sunlight as it filtered into the room. Nearly an hour went by before the walls closed again, flowing like curtains over the tinted glass to block out the light. The dim theatre lights in the room became their only source of luminescence, and by the time their eyes adjusted, the television was back in its place before them.

No words flashed across the screen, only the beginnings of a new scene.

**Sometime later Mycroft has brought Irene and Sherlock to his residence/office. The older brother sits at the dining table with Irene seated opposite him. Sherlock is in the armchair near the fireplace a few yards away, half-turned away from the pair of them. The fingers on his right hand are repeatedly clenching while he listens to the other two speak. Mycroft points down at the camera phone which is lying on the table in front of him. There is no aggression or threat in his voice as he speaks to Irene.**

**MYCROFT: We have people who can get into this.**

**IRENE: I tested that theory for you. I let Sherlock Holmes try it for six months.**

**Sherlock closes his eyes briefly, grimacing slightly.**

**IRENE: Sherlock, dear, tell him what you found when you X-rayed my camera phone.**

All of the serene calm that Molly had absorbed during their break vanished in an instant as her scowl resurfaced. “I said it before, and I’ll say it again: she’s always so smug. I hate it!” she grumbled. Not only was that _woman_ as annoying as anyone could possibly be, but she was also messing with Sherlock’s emotions, and that was one thing that Molly wouldn’t stand for. The detective already had enough trouble dealing with whatever stray feelings he could feel in his neglected heart, and Irene was a cat batting them around like a ball of string.

**SHERLOCK (flatly): There are four additional units wired inside the casing, I suspect containing acid or a small amount of explosive.**

**Mycroft lowers his head into his hand.**

**SHERLOCK: Any attempt to open the casing will burn the hard drive.**

**IRENE: Explosive. (She looks at Mycroft.) It’s more me.**

A few of the viewers shuddered.

**MYCROFT (lifting his head and looking at her again): Some data is always recoverable.**

**IRENE: Take that risk?**

**MYCROFT: You have a passcode to open this. I deeply regret to say we have people who can extract it from you.**

Lestrade made a strange sound that was midway between a snort and a chuckle. “You sure can be intimidating, even when you’re so calm,” he said to the elder Holmes.

Mycroft just gave him a glance out of the corner of his eye.

**IRENE (calmly): Sherlock?**

**SHERLOCK: There will be two passcodes: one to open the phone, one to burn the drive. Even under duress you can’t know which one she’s given you and there will be no point in a second attempt.**

**IRENE: He’s good, isn’t he? I should have him on a leash – in fact, I might.**

A growl ripped from Molly’s throat. Sally, who was situated closest to her after they’d all settled in again, moved away with a jerk of her shoulder. Maybe she shouldn’t have sat there. Too late now.

**She gazes intensely at Sherlock, but he remains turned away from her and can’t see her expression.**

**MYCROFT: We destroy this, then. No-one has the information.**

John shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “How are you so good at ignoring the things she says, Mycroft? They’re bloody disturbing.”

“Dealing with people like her comes with the job.”

“Really?” Sally remained unconvinced. “I doubt there are many people out there that are anything like her.”

**IRENE: Fine. Good idea ... unless there are lives of British citizens depending on the information you’re about to burn.**

**MYCROFT: Are there?**

**IRENE: Telling you would be playing fair. I’m not playing anymore.**

**She reaches into her handbag on the table in front of her and takes out an envelope which she pushes across the table to him.**

**IRENE: A list of my requests; and some ideas about my protection once they’re granted.**

The three officers of Scotland Yard – as a habit that comes with the job – watched the scene play out with small scenarios running through their heads. This was a criminal – a criminal genius, in fact. How would they stop what she was doing? There seemed to be no way out of it. Even the infamous Sherlock Holmes couldn’t find a way out – nor could his older brother, whose job it was to prevent such things. She’d played all of her cards right and there was no stopping her now.

**Mycroft takes the sheet of paper from the envelope and starts to unfold it.**

**IRENE: I’d say it wouldn’t blow much of a hole in the wealth of the nation – but then I’d be lying.**

**He raises his eyebrows in amazement as he reads through the demands she has listed.**

If the situation wasn’t so tense, John would’ve laughed at the expression on Mycroft’s face.

**IRENE: I imagine you’d like to sleep on it.**

**MYCROFT (still reading): Thank you, yes.**

**IRENE: Too bad.**

**He looks up at her. In the armchair, Sherlock snorts in almost silent amusement.**

**IRENE (to Mycroft): Off you pop and talk to people.**

**Sighing, Mycroft sinks back in his chair.**

**MYCROFT: You’ve been very ... thorough. I wish our lot were half as good as you.**

“She brought Britain to its knees and still you have the time for compliments,” Lestrade said. Then he nodded. “I can’t argue with you, though.”

**IRENE: I can’t take all the credit. Had a bit of help.**

**She looks across to Sherlock.**

**IRENE: Oh, Jim Moriarty sends his love.**

“Him, too?” Sally asked under her breath. “How many evil psychopaths want to mess with him?”

**Sherlock raises his head.**

**MYCROFT: Yes, he’s been in touch. Seems desperate for my attention ... (his voice becomes more ominous) ... which I’m sure can be arranged.**

**Unseen by the others, Sherlock’s gaze begins to sharpen as Irene stands up and walks around the table to sit on its edge nearer Mycroft.**

**IRENE: I had all this stuff, never knew what to do with it. Thank God for the consultant criminal. Gave me a lot of advice about how to play the Holmes boys. D’you know what he calls you? (Softly) The Ice Man ... (she looks across to Sherlock) ... and the Virgin.**

John laughed. “I hate Moriarty, but I can’t deny he’s right about that.”

**Sherlock’s eyes are starting to flicker back and forth, though it’s not yet clear whether in reaction to what Irene is saying or whether he’s working something out.**

John looked at his flatmate with interest. He’d seen that look plenty of times before. He knew that Sherlock was thinking hard about something. He was running through the maze of his mind palace, collecting and recalling everything he’d learned of Irene up until that point. He was on a breakthrough – John could sense it. Sherlock would crack the passcode.

Of course, he already knew that. How could he forget? He’d been there for the aftermath, after all.

**IRENE: Didn’t even ask for anything. I think he just likes to cause trouble. Now that’s my kind of man.**

**Sherlock closes his eyes, sighing softly.**

**MYCROFT: And here you are, the dominatrix who brought a nation to its knees.**

**Sherlock’s eyes snap open again. He is definitely working something out.**

“He’s got it,” John said.

Lestrade sighed. He _knew_ that Sherlock would figure it out. “Cutting it a bit close, isn’t he?”

**Mycroft stands and appears to bow slightly to Irene.**

**MYCROFT: Nicely played.**

**He turns away, about to go and begin meeting her demands. Smiling in satisfaction, she stands up, confident that she has won.**

**SHERLOCK: No.**

**They both turn to him.**

Almost everyone in the room watched with rapt attention. John had always wondered how it had played out. Molly and Mrs. Hudson were just intrigued about how Sherlock would bring the rude, smug lady down from her horrible throne. And now that they weren’t in the vicinity of Sherlock, both Sally and Anderson had come to admire how Sherlock worked things out. They were all ready to hear how he’d cracked yet another impossible case.

**IRENE: Sorry?**

**Sherlock turns his head towards them.**

**SHERLOCK: I said no. Very very close, but no.**

**He stands and starts to walk towards her.**

**SHERLOCK: You got carried away. The game was too elaborate. You were enjoying yourself too much.**

**IRENE: No such thing as too much.**

**SHERLOCK (walking closer and looking down at her): Oh, enjoying the thrill of the chase is fine, craving the distraction of the game – I sympathize entirely – but sentiment? Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side.**

**He bares his teeth slightly as he finishes the sentence.**

**IRENE: Sentiment? What are you talking about?**

**SHERLOCK: You.**

**IRENE (smiling calmly): Oh dear God. Look at the poor man. You don’t actually think I was interested in you? Why? Because you’re the great Sherlock Holmes, the clever detective in the funny hat?**

Molly’s cheeks reddened – anger or embarrassment, no one knew; no one felt brave enough to ask her for the answer.

**He steps even closer to her, their bodies almost touching.**

**SHERLOCK (softly): No.**

**He reaches out and slowly wraps the fingers of his right hand around her left wrist, then leans forward and brings his mouth close to her right ear.**

“Is he going to kiss her?” Sally cried out in alarm.

**SHERLOCK (in a whisper): Because I took your pulse.**

Sally gave a sigh of relief. If she had to watch Sherlock Holmes kiss someone, that would break her brain. (It just wouldn’t compute.)

**Flashback to Irene kneeling in front of him at the flat and putting her hand on top of his, then him turning his hand over and resting his fingertips on the underside of her wrist. In the present, Irene frowns in confusion, while Sherlock tightens his grip a little around her wrist.**

“ _Oh_ ,” Anderson said. “So _that’s_ what he was doing. I thought it was a bit outlandish.”

“ _You_ thought,” Sally muttered, giving a small bark of laughter.

**SHERLOCK (softly into her ear): Elevated; your pupils dilated.**

**Flashback to her kneeling in front of him, her pupils widening as she gazes at him. In the present, he releases her hand and leans past her to pick up the camera phone from the table.**

**SHERLOCK (in a more normal voice): I imagine John Watson thinks love’s a mystery to me, but the chemistry is incredibly simple and very destructive.**

Molly shook her head sadly. “Of course he thinks of love as just a science…”

“Isn’t that a good thing in this case?” Sally whispered to her. “Imagine if she succeeded.”

“I guess…” _Doesn’t mean it’s always a good thing, though…_

**He turns and walks a few paces away from her. She follows behind him until he turns and faces her again.**

**SHERLOCK: When we first met, you told me that disguise is always a self-portrait. How true of you: the combination to your safe – your measurements; but this ... (he tosses the phone into the air and catches it again) ... this is far more intimate.**

**He pulls up the security lock with its “I AM ---- LOCKED” screen.**

**SHERLOCK: This is your heart ...**

They all leaned in aside from Mycroft, who already knew where this was headed.

**Without breaking his gaze into her eyes, he punches in the first of the four characters with his thumb.**

**SHERLOCK: ... and you should never let it rule your head.**

**She stares at him, trying to stay calm but the panic is beginning to show behind her eyes.**

**SHERLOCK: You could have chosen any random number and walked out of here today with everything you’ve worked for ...**

**He punches in the second character, his eyes still locked on hers.**

**SHERLOCK: ... but you just couldn’t resist it, could you?**

It was only times like these that Sally could enjoy how much Sherlock liked to talk up his brilliance. When it was directed at her? Not so much. But here, against this woman who she already couldn’t stand even after never having come in contact with her, it was a blessing. She could just sit back and watch in giddy anticipation – satisfied like the cat who got the cream, and she hadn’t even done anything. She couldn’t imagine how it must’ve felt for Sherlock – if he could feel satisfaction, that is.

**Her breathing becomes heavier. Sherlock smiles briefly and triumphantly.**

**SHERLOCK: I’ve always assumed that love is a dangerous disadvantage ...**

**He hits the third character, still gazing at her.**

**SHERLOCK: Thank you for the final proof.**

**He lifts his thumb again but before he can type in the fourth character, she seizes his hand and gazes up at him intensely.**

**IRENE (softly): Everything I said: it’s not real. (In a whisper) I was just playing the game.**

**SHERLOCK (in a whisper): I know.**

**Gently pulling his hand free, he types in the final character.**

There was a collective intake of breath.

**SHERLOCK: And this is just losing.**

**Slowly he turns the phone towards her and shows her the screen. She looks down at it, tears spilling from her eyes as she reads the sequence which says:**

*****

**I AM**

**SHER**

**LOCKED**

*****

**She gazes down at the screen in despair for a few seconds, then Sherlock lifts the phone away and holds it out towards Mycroft even as the phone unlocks and presents its menu.**

**SHERLOCK (his eyes still fixed on Irene’s): There you are, brother. I hope the contents make up for any inconvenience I may have caused you tonight.**

**MYCROFT: I’m certain they will.**

“It’s good that you’re back on good terms,” Mrs. Hudson said softly, breaking the silence. “It’s terrible when you two fight.”

**He takes the phone and Sherlock turns and begins to walk towards the door.**

**SHERLOCK: If you’re feeling kind, lock her up; otherwise let her go. I doubt she’ll survive long without her protection.**

**Irene stares after him, her eyes wide with dread.**

**IRENE: Are you expecting me to beg?**

**SHERLOCK (flatly, calmly): Yes.**

Molly frowned. Conflicting feelings were warring for her heart – pity for the woman because of Sherlock’s sudden cruelty, or gratification because she was finally getting her just desserts.

**He stops near the door, his face in profile to her. She stares at him in anguish for several seconds, then realizes that she has no choice.**

**IRENE: Please.**

**He doesn’t move.**

**IRENE: You’re right.**

**Now he turns to look at her.**

**IRENE (staring at him pleadingly): I won’t even last six months.**

**SHERLOCK: Sorry about dinner.**

**He turns away and walks to the door, opening it and walking through. She watches him go, her eyes full of horror as the door closes behind him.**

Sally let out a breath that she hadn’t even been aware that she was holding. “That was just…cold.”

“Maybe Sherlock should be the Ice Man,” Anderson muttered.

Sally could only nod wordlessly.

*****

**BAKER STREET. DAY TIME. It is pouring with rain. Outside Speedy’s café, Mycroft is standing under the protection of his umbrella, smoking a cigarette. He has a clear plastic wallet tucked under one arm and his briefcase is at his feet. John hurries towards home, hunched over and soaking wet. He sees Mycroft standing there and stops in surprise, then walks over to him.**

“Don’t you wish you had an umbrella with you right now, huh John?” Lestrade asked with a teasing chuckle. He was just glad that the apparent tension was over…but then why with the sad music? He racked his brain, trying to think about what had happened after that. He came up with nothing.

**JOHN: You don’t smoke.**

**MYCROFT: I also don’t frequent cafés.**

**Dropping the cigarette on the ground and treading it out, he closes his umbrella, picks up his briefcase and turns and walks into Speedy’s. John follows him.**

**Not long afterwards they are sitting opposite each other at one of the tables. John picks up his mug and looks at the plastic wallet which Mycroft has put on the table in front of himself. There is a sticker on the wallet saying “RESTRICTED ACCESS – CONFIDENTIAL”. The camera phone is inside the wallet on top of various documents.**

**JOHN: This the file on Irene Adler?**

**MYCROFT: Closed forever. I am about to go and inform my brother – or, if you prefer, you are – that she somehow got herself into a witness protection scheme in America. New name, new identity. She will survive – and thrive – but he will never see her again.**

**JOHN: Why would he care? He despised her at the end. Won’t even mention her by name – just “the Woman.”**

**MYCROFT: Is that loathing, or a salute? One of a kind; the one woman who matters.**

Molly looked down.

**JOHN: He’s not like that. He doesn’t feel things that way ... I don’t think.**

**MYCROFT: My brother has the brain of a scientist or a philosopher, yet he elects to be a detective. What might we deduce about his heart?**

**JOHN: I don’t know.**

**MYCROFT: Neither do I ... but initially, he wanted to be a pirate.**

“What?” That was something that no one in the room – other than Mycroft and John – was expecting. Sally and Anderson both stared at the screen, their minds filled with images of the man that they’d hated. They were trying to imagine him as a pirate, but nothing came to mind. They couldn’t even conjure an image of what the detective might’ve looked like when he was young. Perhaps, to them, he would forever be the rude, middle-aged, genius detective.

**He smiles briefly at John, then his gaze becomes distant and reflective.**

**JOHN: He’ll be okay with this witness protection, never seeing her again. He’ll be fine.**

**MYCROFT: I agree. (He breathes in sharply.) That’s why I decided to tell him that.**

**JOHN: Instead of what?**

**MYCROFT: She’s dead. She was captured by a terrorist cell in Karachi two months ago and beheaded.**

**John looks at him silently for several seconds, then quietly clears his throat.**

**JOHN: It’s definitely her? She’s done this before.**

**MYCROFT: I was thorough – this time. It would take Sherlock Holmes to fool me, and I don’t think he was on hand, do you?**

**They look at each other for a moment.**

**MYCROFT: So ... (he pushes the wallet across the table towards John, then puts his elbows on the table, clasps his hands in front of him and rests his chin on them) ... what should we tell Sherlock?**

*****

**221B. Sherlock is sitting at the kitchen table looking into his microscope. Footsteps can be heard coming up the stairs and he speaks before John even comes into view.**

**SHERLOCK: Clearly, you’ve got news.**

**John stops in the doorway with the wallet in his hand. Sherlock doesn’t lift his head.**

A slight sadness overcomes the room. No one could picture how the self-proclaimed sociopath would react to the news, so they just decided to leave it up to the footage to tell them.

**SHERLOCK: If it’s about the Leeds triple murder, it was the gardener. Nobody noticed the earring.**

**JOHN: Hi. Er, no, it’s, um ... (he takes a couple of steps into the kitchen) ... it’s about Irene Adler.**

**Sherlock looks up, his face unreadable.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh? Something happened? Has she come back?**

**JOHN: No, she’s, er ... I just bumped into Mycroft downstairs. He had to take a call.**

**SHERLOCK (standing up and walking around the table towards John): Is she back in London?**

**JOHN: No. She’s, er ...**

**He gazes at the table for a long moment, then drags in a sharp breath and raises his eyes to Sherlock’s as his flatmate steps closer, frowning.**

“You’re really bad at lying, John,” Lestrade said as he shook his head. “How do you expect him to believe anything you say?” he then turned to Mycroft. “How did _you_ believe that Sherlock would believe anything John said?”

Mycroft just frowned. John wasn’t supposed to be that bad at lying, but his brother hadn’t come to him about it, so he assumed it went well.

**JOHN: She’s in America.**

**SHERLOCK: America?**

“Is it just me or does Sherlock not believe a thing you’re saying?” Sally asked as she looked pointedly at John.

John huffed.

**JOHN: Mmm-hmm. Got herself on a witness protection scheme, apparently. Dunno how she swung it, but, er, well, you know.**

**SHERLOCK: I know what?**

**JOHN: Well, you won’t be able to see her again.**

**SHERLOCK: Why would I want to see her again?**

**JOHN (smiling ruefully as Sherlock turns away and walks back around the table): Didn’t say you did.**

**SHERLOCK: Is that her file?**

**JOHN: Yes. I was just gonna take it back to Mycroft.**

**He offers the wallet to Sherlock.**

**JOHN: Do you want to ...?**

**SHERLOCK (sitting down): No.**

**He looks into his microscope again.**

**JOHN: Hmm.**

**He looks at his friend for a long while, considering his options. Eventually, he steps forward again.**

**JOHN: Listen, actually ...**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, but I will have the camera phone, though.**

**He holds out his hand towards John, not lifting his gaze from his work.**

**JOHN: There’s nothing on it anymore. It’s been stripped.**

**SHERLOCK: I know, but I ...**

**He pauses for a long moment before continuing.**

**SHERLOCK: ... I’ll still have it.**

**JOHN: I’ve gotta give this back to Mycroft. You can’t keep it.**

**Sherlock keeps his hand extended and his eyes fixed on the microscope.**

**JOHN: Sherlock, I have to give this to Mycroft. It’s the government’s now. I couldn’t even give ...**

**SHERLOCK: Please.**

The silence in the room was so thick that you could cut it with a knife. Everyone seemed not to know what to do, including the John that was on the screen.

**He extends his hand a little further. John looks at him, clearly wondering what to do, then finally he reaches into the wallet, takes out the phone and lays it gently into Sherlock’s hand. Sherlock closes his fingers around it, draws his hand back and puts the phone into his trouser pocket before returning his hand to the microscope.**

**SHERLOCK: Thank you.**

**JOHN (raising the wallet): Well, I’d better take this back.**

**SHERLOCK: Yes.**

**John turns and walks out onto the landing, then pauses as if wondering whether to ask the question that has now come into his mind. After several seconds he turns around and comes back into the kitchen. Sherlock still doesn’t lift his eyes from his microscope.**

**JOHN: Did she ever text you again, after ... all that?**

**SHERLOCK: Once, a few months ago.**

**JOHN: What did she say?**

**SHERLOCK: “Goodbye, Mr. Holmes.”**

**John looks at him thoughtfully.**

**JOHN (softly): Huh.**

**He paces around in front of the kitchen door for a few seconds, wondering if there’s anything more he can say, then eventually turns and heads off down the stairs. As soon as he’s out of sight Sherlock raises his head and gazes across the room for a moment, then he reaches down to his own phone which is on the table and picks it up, calling up his saved messages. Getting up and walking into the living room, he scrolls through the messages sent by “The Woman,” all of which he has kept. They go on for a long time:**

*****

**I’m not hungry, let’s have dinner.**

**Bored in a hotel. Join me. Let’s have dinner.**

**John’s blog is HILARIOUS. I think he likes you more than I do. Let’s have dinner.**

**I can see tower bridge and the moon from my room. Work out where I am and join me.**

**I saw you in the street today. You didn’t see me.**

**You do know that hat actually suits you, don’t you?**

**Oh for God’s sake. Let’s have dinner.**

**I like your funny hat.**

**I’m in Egypt talking to an idiot. Get on a plane, let’s have dinner.**

**You looked sexy on Crimewatch.**

**Even you have got to eat. Let’s have dinner.**

**BBC1 right now. You’ll laugh.**

**I’m thinking of sending you a Christmas present.**

**Mantelpiece.**

**I’m not dead. Let’s have dinner.**

*****

**Then comes the one reply he sent to her:**

*****

**Happy New Year**

*****

**And at the bottom of the list is her last message to him:**

*****

**Goodbye Mr. Holmes**

*****

**Reaching the living room window, he looks down at the final message for a long time before lifting his eyes and gazing out at the pouring rain.**

*****

**Flashback to (presumably) two months earlier in Karachi. It is nighttime and there is background noise of male voices shouting in a foreign language. Shaky camera footage eventually resolves into clearer resolution, revealing Irene kneeling on the ground in front of a military vehicle.**

“What’s this?” Lestrade asked, furrowing an eyebrow at the screen in confusion.

“This must be how she died,” John whispered.

“Why are we being shown this, though? We already know that she’s been beheaded,” commented Anderson.

**She is dressed in black robes, her hair covered by a black headscarf, and is typing one-handed onto her phone. Standing to her right is a man holding a rifle with one hand while he repeatedly gestures for her phone with the other. She ignores him, refusing to hand it over until she has finished her message, which reads:**

*****

**Goodbye Mr. Holmes**

*****

**She presses Send and then gives the phone to the man. To her left, a second man walks over and raises a wide-bladed curved sword above her head, bringing it slowly down towards the back of her neck while he checks that his aim will be correct. Irene stares ahead of herself, fighting her tears, then the screen fades to black as she slowly closes her eyes.**

*****

**A couple of seconds later, an orgasmic female sigh fills the air. Irene’s eyes snap open and fill with hope as she turns her head to look at her executioner. His face is completely shrouded apart from his eyes, but a very recognizable blue-grey gaze meets her own.**

Anderson fell out of his seat. “What the-?”

No one had been expecting that turn of events. Even Mycroft, usually stoic, stared at the screen in absolute shock. Thinking back to his conversation with John, he nearly groaned in frustration. He _had_ said that it would take Sherlock Holmes to fool him, and he was right.

Sherlock Holmes _had_ fooled him. His own younger brother had deceived him.

**SHERLOCK (quietly): When I say run, run!**

**She turns her head to the front again. Sherlock pulls back the sword as if he’s about to strike the death blow, then he spins and begins to strike out at the nearby militia. Irene stares ahead of herself, her eyes wide with disbelief that she is going to live. Slowly she begins to smile.**

*****

**In London in the present, Sherlock smiles at the memory, then chuckles to himself as he takes Irene’s camera phone from his pocket. Tossing it into the air and catching it again, he looks at it for a couple of seconds.**

“He’s…smiling…” Sally breathed.

“Probably thinking about her,” Anderson said.

“Or about how he fooled everyone,” John grumbled. “He knew from the very start that I was lying to him. I knew I should’ve been more suspicious. He believed my story _way_ too easily.”

**SHERLOCK: The Woman.**

**Opening the top drawer of a nearby cabinet, he puts the phone into it and is about to withdraw his hand when he pauses, then puts his fingers onto the phone again and looks at it thoughtfully.**

**SHERLOCK: _The_ Woman. **

**He lifts his head and gazes out at the rainy city for a while, then turns and walks away.**

“So…wait. _Did_ he love her, or didn’t he? That question was never really answered, even with these videos,” Sally pointed out.

“I guess we’ll never know,” Lestrade said.

John nodded in agreement. “Yeah. You can’t just assume because I don’t think any of us will ever understand exactly how Sherlock thinks, even with the help of these videos giving us insight.”

Suddenly, new words appeared on the screen. _“I completely agree with you, John. Sherlock is a confusing person. That’s why I brought you all here in the first place – well, that and another thing, but we’ll get to that later. For now, I’ll let you know that you were right. The next case you and Sherlock have here is the Hounds of Baskerville. I hope you enjoy watching yourself be scared!”_

The words seemed to taunt them in the semi-darkness of the room. The Hounds of Baskerville? That meant that they were almost done, right? Almost at Sherlock’s…death?

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	34. 2x2 Part 1 The Hounds of Baskerville

When the next episode began, John found himself very nervous. He couldn’t help it. There was just one more big case between him and Sherlock’s death. Silently, he wished for the footage to just stop…to just disappear so that he wouldn’t have to relive the moments up to the death of his best friend. However, he knew that this might be necessary. Maybe it was all for the benefit of his grieving, for all of their grieving. Reliving his life and their cases together would help him accept Sherlock’s death once and for all. It would help him accept that his best friend was gone and there was no going back. At least he’d taken Moriarty with him. That way, Sherlock’s soul could rest in peace knowing that he’d defeated his greatest rival.

There was one thing that John didn’t understand, though. Sure, Moriarty framed him, but Sherlock never cared what other people thought. From what they’d seen so far, Sherlock wasn’t a fraud – not by far, so…why had he told John that he was? Why had he committed suicide when his “secret” was found out? There was no logical explanation behind what Sherlock did. He obviously wouldn’t have done it at gunpoint – Moriarty was already dead and committing suicide instead of dying of murder wasn’t Sherlock’s style – if there was a style for dying.

John shuddered at the thought.

He was never the thinker that Sherlock was, though, so John resigned himself to watching the rest of the footage. Maybe then – seeing into Sherlock’s mind, they would understand why he did what he did.

Before he knew it, the next “episode” had started.

**In woodland just before sunrise, seven-year-old Henry Knight is running through the trees panting heavily.**

“You know who that is, John?” Lestrade asked.

“No clue.”

“That must be one young, Henry Knight, as I do recall that this case was about the mystery of his youth,” Mycroft said. “But as for how this video was taken, leaves us just as confused as the rest of it.”

**He is repeatedly looking behind him and having flashbacks to the terrible scene he has recently witnessed where a man was being attacked by someone – or something. The man was screaming and crying out in terror, scrabbling at the ground as he tried to get away from his attacker, which was growling and snarling ferociously. Henry runs on, trying to get away from the horror. After some time, he has cleared the trees and is out on moorland. He runs up an incline just as an elderly woman comes over the top of the rise. She is walking her dog.**

**GRACE: Oh, hello.**

**Henry stops and looks at her, but his attention is mostly focused on her dog – some kind of spaniel which just stands there pretty much ignoring him.**

**GRACE: Are you all right?**

**Still, Henry stares at the dog, whose features are mostly obscured in shadow due to the sun rising behind it.**

**GRACE: What is it, dear? Are you lost?**

**The dog pokes its nose towards him in a friendly way. Henry screams in utter terror.**

“Afraid of dogs. Definitely Henry,” John said.

Mrs. Hudson frowned at the screen. “Oh, the poor dear.”

*****

**Twenty years later, the young boy’s screams are echoing in adult Henry’s ears. He looks around blankly as if he doesn’t know where he is or how he got there, then his face fills with horror when he realizes that he is standing in the middle of a deep hollow in the woods. He starts to stumble away.**

“Did he just have some waking nightmare or something?” Sally asked. “How did he get there? He looks like _he_ doesn’t even know.”

*****

**BAKER STREET. The door to 221B slams closed on someone who has just gone inside, and the camera pans across to show two toy nodding dogs in the window of Speedy’s café.**

“That’s a little too convenient for this case, don’t you think? It feels a lot like foreshadowing…” Anderson mumbled.

“Don’t be silly. Those dogs have always been there,” Mrs. Hudson told him, shaking her head.

**Upstairs in the flat, the living room door bursts open and Sherlock charges in, stopping just inside the room and slamming the end of a long pole down onto the ground. Sitting in his armchair, John looks around and his eyes widen at the sight of his flatmate, who is wearing black trousers and a white shirt and whose arms, face and shirt are covered with blood – far too much blood for it to be his own – and who is holding a harpoon. He looks round to John, breathing heavily.**

Most of the room’s occupants jumped in horror.

“What the bloody hell happened?” Sally screamed.

Molly, just as shocked and pale-cheeked, let out a stuttering breath. “Um…calm down, Sally. I’m sure we’ll find out soon. …Right, John?”

John was just wide-eyed. He wasn’t shocked like the others – he’d seen it already – but it was still a bit surreal to see his best friend covered in blood again, even if it wasn’t his own.

**SHERLOCK: Well, that was tedious.**

**JOHN: You went on the Tube like that?!**

**SHERLOCK (irritated): None of the cabs would take me.**

“I wonder why!” Sally shouted at the on-screen Sherlock. (He, of course, didn’t answer.)

**He turns and leaves the room.**

*****

**Later he is back in the room having cleaned himself up and changed into a clean shirt and trousers with one of his blue dressing gowns over the top. He is still carrying the harpoon and is pacing rapidly between the door and the window, looking around repeatedly at John who is sitting in his chair and flicking through the newspapers.**

**SHERLOCK (impatiently): Nothing?**

Anderson frowned. “He looks bored. Does he always do that when he’s bored?”

“You mean pace around the living room with a harpoon? Not always, no. Usually, he shoots at things,” John said with a sigh. Who would’ve thought that he’d ever miss _that_ quirk?

**JOHN: Military coup in Uganda.**

**SHERLOCK: Hmm.**

**John chuckles in amusement when he sees something in one of the papers.**

**JOHN: Another photo of you with the, er ...**

**He points to a photograph of Sherlock wearing the deerstalker hat. Sherlock makes a disgusted noise and continues pacing. John moves on to another newspaper.**

**JOHN: Oh, um, Cabinet reshuffle.**

**SHERLOCK (furious): Nothing of importance?**

**He stops and slams the end of the harpoon onto the ground and roars with rage.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, God!**

**He looks over at John intensely.**

**SHERLOCK: John, I need some. Get me some.**

**JOHN (calmly): No.**

**SHERLOCK (intensely): Get me some.**

**JOHN (more loudly): No. (He points sternly at him.) Cold turkey, we agreed, no matter what.**

Lestrade smiled, happy that John was helping Sherlock with his nicotine problem. He’d been there when the man was deep into drugs, so he was extremely glad that he now had someone to keep him straight – that thought made him chuckle; oh, the irony.

**Irritated, Sherlock leans the harpoon against the dining table.**

**JOHN: Anyway, you’ve paid everyone off, remember? No-one within a two-mile radius’ll sell you any.**

**SHERLOCK: Stupid idea. Whose idea was that?**

**John looks round at him and clears his throat pointedly. Sherlock looks towards the door.**

“Obviously his,” Anderson said.

“But if he pays them more for the drugs than he offered for not selling to him, that would completely ruin the deal…” Sally pointed out.

“Good thing he didn’t get that idea, then,” John said.

Lestrade grinned. “I’d just like to think of it as Sherlock being loyal to quitting.”

**SHERLOCK (shouting): Mrs. Hudson!**

**He starts hurling paperwork off the table, desperately searching for what he needs.**

**JOHN: Look, Sherlock, you’re doing really well. Don’t give up now.**

**SHERLOCK (frantically as he continues his search): Tell me where they are. Please. Tell me.**

**As John remains silent, Sherlock straightens up and then turns his most appealing puppy-dog eyes on him, hesitating before he speaks and almost forming the word a couple of times before actually speaking it.**

**SHERLOCK: Please.**

**JOHN: Can’t help, sorry.**

**SHERLOCK: I’ll let you know next week’s lottery numbers.**

“How’s he supposed to know that?” Lestrade asked.

John shrugged. “He’s a genius.”

“That’s just going to be your answer for everything about Sherlock, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

**John chuckles.**

**SHERLOCK (exasperated): Oh, it was worth a try.**

**He looks around the room, then gets inspired and hurls himself to the floor in front of the fireplace. Unearthing a Persian slipper from the pile of papers in front of the unlit fire, he holds it up and scrabbles about inside as Mrs. Hudson arrives at the door and comes in.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Ooh-ooh!**

**SHERLOCK (rummaging about in the fireplace and speaking almost sing-song): My secret supply. What have you done with my secret supply?**

Molly folded her arms. “Let’s hope its location _stays_ a secret.”

Sally scoffed. “Yeah, but if it’s a _secret_ supply, why did John and Mrs. Hudson know where it was in the first place?”

**MRS. HUDSON: Eh?**

**SHERLOCK: Cigarettes! What have you done with them? Where are they?**

**MRS. HUDSON: You know you never let me touch your things!**

**She looks around at the mess.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Ooh, chance would be a fine thing.**

**SHERLOCK (standing up and facing her): I thought you weren’t my housekeeper.**

**MRS. HUDSON: I’m not.**

A few people giggled at Mrs. Hudson’s actions. She was the only person who could sass Sherlock and get away with it without some scathing remark from his unforgiving tongue.

**Making a frustrated noise, Sherlock stomps back over to the harpoon and picks it up again. Behind him, Mrs. Hudson looks down at John who does the universal mime for offering someone a drink. She looks at Sherlock again.**

**MRS. HUDSON: How about a nice cuppa, and perhaps you could put away your harpoon.**

**SHERLOCK: I need something stronger than tea. Seven percent stronger.**

“Cigarettes are seven percent stronger than tea? Or does he mean something else?” Molly asked with furrowed eyebrows.

“No clue.”

**He glares out of the window, then turns back towards Mrs. Hudson and aims the point of the harpoon at her. She flinches.**

**SHERLOCK: You’ve been to see Mr. Chatterjee again.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Pardon?**

**SHERLOCK (pointing with the harpoon’s tip): Sandwich shop. That’s a new dress, but there’s flour on the sleeve. You wouldn’t dress like that for baking.**

**JOHN: Sherlock ...**

**SHERLOCK: Thumbnail: tiny traces of foil. Been at the scratch cards again. We all know where that leads, don’t we?**

Lestrade frowned. “He must’ve _really_ been in it bad, talking to Mrs. Hudson like that. John, is he always like this when he’s got no cases to solve?”

John shrugged. “When he’s got nothing higher than a six. I guess it’s just his brain working way to fast for him to process things properly. He needs an outlet somewhere,” he replied.

**He sniffs deeply as he finally stops aiming the harpoon at her.**

**SHERLOCK: Mmm: ‘Kasbah Nights.’ Pretty racy for first thing on a Monday morning, wouldn’t you agree? I’ve written a little blog on the identification of perfumes. It’s on the website – you should look it up.**

**MRS. HUDSON (exasperated): Please.**

**SHERLOCK: I wouldn’t pin your hopes on that cruise with Mr. Chatterjee. He’s got a wife in Doncaster (he adopts a south Yorkshire accent to say the town’s name) that nobody knows about.**

**JOHN (angrily): Sherlock!**

**SHERLOCK: Well, nobody except me.**

**MRS. HUDSON (upset): I don’t know what you’re talking about, I really don’t.**

**She storms out of the flat, slamming the living room door closed as she goes.**

“That was so mean…” Molly grumbled at the screen. She’d seen Sherlock go off about things, but never so aggressively – especially against people that he didn’t hate (like two certain Yarders that she knew who were always picking on him). Was this what happened when he had nothing to challenge his overactive mind?

**Sherlock leaps over the back of his armchair from behind it, then perches on the seat, wrapping his arms around his knees like a petulant child. John slams his newspaper down.**

**JOHN: What the bloody hell was all that about?**

**SHERLOCK (rocking back and forth): You don’t understand.**

**JOHN (sternly): Go after her and apologize.**

**SHERLOCK (staring at him): Apologize?**

**JOHN: Mm-hm.**

**SHERLOCK (sighing): Oh, John, I envy you so much.**

**John hesitates, wondering whether to rise to the bait, but eventually asks the question burning in his mind.**

**JOHN: You envy me?**

**SHERLOCK: Your mind: it’s so placid, straightforward, barely used. Mine’s like an engine, racing out of control; a rocket tearing itself to pieces trapped on the launch pad. (Loudly, frantically) I need a case!**

**JOHN (equally loudly): You’ve just solved one! By harpooning a dead pig, apparently!**

“Is _that_ what happened?” Sally asked. “I’m sure we would’ve heard about that.”

“You don’t know everything that goes on at 221B Baker Street,” John said.

“That much is obvious,” Mycroft said, “As we can see from these videos. I hate to admit it but there’s more here than what I’ve seen of my little brother.”

**With an exasperated noise, Sherlock jumps up in the air and then lands in the seated position on the chair.**

**SHERLOCK: That was this morning!**

**He starts drumming the fingers of both hands on the arms of the chair while stomping his feet on the floor.**

**SHERLOCK: When’s the next one?**

**JOHN: Nothing on the website?**

**Sherlock gets up and walks over to the table, collects his laptop and hands it to John, who looks at the message on there while Sherlock stomps over to the window and narrates part of it.**

**SHERLOCK: “Dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I can’t find Bluebell anywhere. Please, please, please can you help?”**

**JOHN: Bluebell?**

**SHERLOCK (irritated): A rabbit, John!**

**JOHN: Oh.**

**SHERLOCK (sarcastically): Ah, but there’s more! Before Bluebell disappeared, it turned luminous ...**

**He adopts a little girl’s voice for the next three words.**

**SHERLOCK: ... “like a fairy” according to little Kirsty; then the next morning, Bluebell was gone! Hutch still locked, no sign of a forced entry ...**

**He stops and his expression becomes more intense.**

**SHERLOCK: Ah! What am I saying? This is brilliant! Phone Lestrade. Tell him there’s an escaped rabbit.**

As such, all three Yarders just stared at the detective on the screen as if he’d grown a second head. Lestrade shook his head. “I’m glad I didn’t get _that_ call.”

John just laughed. “he still took the case. And solved it. There was more to it than we could’ve thought.

**JOHN: Are you serious?**

**SHERLOCK: It’s this or Cluedo.**

**JOHN: Ah, no!**

**He closes the laptop and gets up to put it back on the table.**

**JOHN: We are never playing that again!**

Outrageous laughter burst out from the audience at John’s reaction on-screen. Meanwhile, in his eat, John went pale, just thinking about Cluedo with Sherlock.

**SHERLOCK: Why not?**

**JOHN: Because it’s not actually possible for the victim to have done it, Sherlock, that’s why.**

**SHERLOCK: Well, it was the only possible solution.**

**JOHN (sitting down again): It’s not in the rules.**

**SHERLOCK (furiously): Then the rules are wrong!**

**The doorbell rings. John thoughtfully holds up a finger as Sherlock looks towards the living room door.**

**JOHN: Single ring.**

**SHERLOCK: Maximum pressure just under the half-second.**

“You guys focus on different details but it’s obvious that you’re both on the same wavelength,” Molly pointed out with a smile.

“I know!” Mrs. Hudson said, “Aren’t they just so cute?”

Molly and John both just sighed. That obviously wasn’t where she was going with that.

**JOHN and SHERLOCK (simultaneously): Client.**

*****

**Not long afterwards, a recording of a documentary is playing on the TV. Sherlock has taken off the dressing gown and exchanged it for a jacket and is sitting in his chair. John has relocated to the dining table chair near Sherlock’s, and a man is sitting in John’s chair. The documentary footage shows scenes of Dartmoor. Sherlock instantly looks bored.**

**PRESENTER (voiceover): Dartmoor. It’s always been a place of myth and legend, but is there something else lurking out here – something very real?**

**Footage of “Keep Out” signs.**

**PRESENTER (walking along a narrow road): Because Dartmoor’s also home to one of the government’s most secret of operations ...**

**Sherlock’s eyes flick repeatedly between the screen and the man in John’s chair as the footage shows a large sign saying:**

*****

**AUTHORISED PERSONNEL ONLY**

**YOU ARE NOW ENTERING A RESTRICTED AREA**

**BASKERVILLE**

*****

**By this time Sherlock’s eyes are permanently fixed on the newcomer, who we now see is Henry Knight. Henry is watching the documentary with an anxious look on his face.**

“How in God’s name did you get _Sherlock_ to watch a _documentary_?” Sally asked. She and the other Yarders looked shocked but also mildly impressed – especially Lestrade.

**PRESENTER (voiceover): ... the chemical and biological weapons research centre which is said to be even more sensitive than Porton Down. Since the end of the Second World War, there’ve been persistent stories about the Baskerville experiments: genetic mutations, animals grown for the battlefield. There are many who believe that within this compound, in the heart of this ancient wilderness, there are horrors beyond imagining. But the real question is: “Are all of them still inside?”**

**The footage switches to an indoor scene where Henry is sitting in front of the camera talking to an offscreen interviewer. A caption at the bottom of the screen shows him as “Henry Knight, Grimpen resident”.**

“Ah. He must’ve been the client at the door,” Lestrade said with a knowing smile.

**HENRY: I was just a kid. It-it was on the moor.**

**There’s a cut-away to a child’s drawing of a huge snarling dog with red eyes. The caption says, “Henry’s drawing (aged 9)”.**

**HENRY (onscreen): It was dark, but I know what I saw. I know what killed my father.**

**Sighing, Sherlock picks up the remote control and switches off the footage.**

**SHERLOCK (to Henry): What did you see?**

**HENRY: Oh. (He points to the television.) I ... I was just about to say.**

Molly chuckled. “And Sherlock wants to ask his own questions. He always does.”

**SHERLOCK: Yes, in a TV interview. I prefer to do my own editing.**

**HENRY: Yes. Sorry, yes, of course. ’Scuse me.**

**He reaches into his jacket pocket, pulls out a paper napkin and wipes his nose on it.**

**JOHN: In your own time.**

**SHERLOCK: But quite quickly.**

**Henry lowers the napkin.**

**HENRY: Do you know Dartmoor, Mr. Holmes?**

**SHERLOCK: No.**

**HENRY: It’s an amazing place. It’s like nowhere else. It’s sort of ... bleak but beautiful.**

**SHERLOCK: Mmm, not interested. Moving on.**

**HENRY: We used to go for walks after my mum died, my dad and me. Every evening we’d go out onto the moor.**

**SHERLOCK: Yes, good. Skipping to the night that your dad was violently killed. Where did that happen?**

**John’s eyes raise skywards at Sherlock’s insensitive attitude.**

Several sighs filled the room like a balloon leaking air.

**HENRY: There’s a place – it’s... it’s a sort of local landmark called Dewer’s Hollow.**

**He gazes at Sherlock who tilts his head at him as if to say, “And...?”**

“At least he got rid of the harpoon,” Anderson said.

“Yeah, he prefers to use his words as his weapon anyway,” Sally remarked.

**HENRY: That’s an ancient name for the devil.**

**SHERLOCK (quirking an eyebrow): So?**

**JOHN: Did you see the devil that night?**

**His face haunted with memories, Henry looks across to him and nods.**

**HENRY (in a whisper): Yes.**

**Flashback to Henry’s father screaming as he is pulled off his feet by something while young Henry watches in horror nearby.**

“That must’ve been horrifying for the poor little chap,” Lestrade said, eye sharp as he watched the graphic scene before them.

Mycroft shook his head. “But do you notice that the creature attacking the boy’s father avoids our direct view? This is obviously a misremembering – very common for children of such a young age when they are faced with traumatic events.” His eyes suddenly gained a far-off look – one that everyone in the room missed except for Lestrade, who was looking straight at him. The expression shocked the DI because he’d never seen it before on Mycroft Holmes’ face. Just what could he be referring to? It had long since moved away from talking about little Henry Knight.

**HENRY (voiceover): It was huge. Coal-black fur, with red eyes.**

**In the flashback, Henry’s father finally falls silent. The creature growls savagely and young Henry turns and begins to scramble away.**

**HENRY (tearfully): It got him, tore at him, tore him apart.**

**Sherlock watches him intensely.**

**HENRY: I can’t remember anything else. They found me the next morning, just wandering on the moor. My dad’s body was never found.**

**JOHN: Hmm. (He looks across to Sherlock.) Red eyes, coal-black fur, enormous: dog? Wolf?**

**SHERLOCK: Or a genetic experiment.**

Molly frowned. “He doesn’t believe a word Henry is saying.”

Sally scoffed. “How could he? A tall tale from a terrified seven-year-old boy? I’d need to see it with my own eyes, first.”

**He looks away, biting back a smile.**

**HENRY: Are you laughing at me, Mr. Holmes?**

**SHERLOCK: Why, are you joking?**

**HENRY: My dad was always going on about the things they were doing at Baskerville; about the type of monsters they were breeding there. People used to laugh at him. At least the TV people took me seriously.**

**SHERLOCK: And, I assume, did wonders for Devon tourism.**

**JOHN (uncomfortably): Yeah ...**

**In an attempt to stop Sherlock’s continuing sarcasm, he leans forward to Henry. Sherlock rolls his eyes when he realizes what John is doing.**

**JOHN: Henry, whatever did happen to your father, it was twenty years ago. Why come to us now?**

**Henry sits forward, staring at Sherlock.**

**HENRY: I’m not sure you can help me, Mr. Holmes, since you find it all so funny.**

**He stands up and walks around the chair, heading towards the door.**

**SHERLOCK: Because of what happened last night.**

**JOHN: Why, what happened last night?**

“Ah. He’s interested,” Lestrade said.

“How can you tell?” Anderson asked, tilting his head towards his boss.

“He called him back with that statement. He wouldn’t have done that if he wasn’t going to take the case.”

**Henry turns back towards them.**

**HENRY: How ... how do you know?**

**SHERLOCK: I didn’t know; I noticed.**

**John shuffles on his chair with an “Oh dear lord, here we go” expression on his face.**

Everyone watching from their seats seemed to adopt similar expressions.

**SHERLOCK (quick fire): You came up from Devon on the first available train this morning. You had a disappointing breakfast and a cup of black coffee. The girl in the seat across the aisle fancied you. Although you were initially keen, you’ve now changed your mind. You are, however, extremely anxious to have your first cigarette of the day. Sit down, Mr. Knight, and do please smoke. I’d be delighted.**

**Henry stares at him, then glances across to John who averts his gaze and sighs. Hesitantly, Henry walks back to the armchair and sits down, fishing in his jacket pocket.**

**HENRY: How on earth did you notice all that?!**

**JOHN: It’s not important ...**

**But Sherlock’s already off.**

**SHERLOCK (looking at two small round white pieces of paper stuck to Henry’s coat): Punched-out holes where your ticket’s been checked ...**

**JOHN: Not now, Sherlock.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh please. I’ve been cooped up in here for ages.**

**JOHN: You’re just showing off.**

**SHERLOCK: Of course. I am a show-off. That’s what we do.**

Sally finally grinned at something that Sherlock said. “At least he openly admits it…”

**He turns his attention back to Henry and the napkin that he’s still holding.**

**SHERLOCK: The train napkin that you used to mop up the spilled coffee: the strength of the stain shows that you didn’t take milk. There are traces of ketchup on it and round your lips and on your sleeve. Cooked breakfast – or the nearest thing those trains can manage. Probably a sandwich.**

**Henry half-sobs, over-awed.**

**HENRY: How did you know it was disappointing?**

**SHERLOCK: Is there any other type of breakfast on a train? The girl – female handwriting’s quite distinctive. Wrote her phone number down on the napkin. I can tell from the angle she wrote at that she was sat across from you on the other side of the aisle. Later – after she got off, I imagine – you used the napkin to mop up your spilled coffee, accidentally smudging the numbers. You’ve been over the last four digits yourself with another pen, so you wanted to keep the number. Just now, though, you used the napkin to blow your nose. Maybe you’re not that into her after all. Then there’s the nicotine stains on your fingers ... your shaking fingers. I know the signs.**

**His gaze becomes intense.**

**SHERLOCK: No chance to smoke one on the train; no time to roll one before you got a cab here.**

**He glances at his watch.**

**SHERLOCK: It’s just after nine-fifteen. You’re desperate. The first train from Exeter to London leaves at five forty-six a.m. You got the first one possible, so something important must have happened last night. Am I wrong?**

**Henry stares at him in amazement, then draws in a shaky breath.**

**HENRY: No.**

**Sherlock smiles smugly. John takes a drink from his mug to hide his “oh bugger it” look.**

**HENRY (awestruck): You’re right. You’re completely, exactly right. Bloody hell, I heard you were quick.**

**SHERLOCK: It’s my job.**

**He leans forward in his seat and glares at Henry intensely.**

**SHERLOCK: Now shut up and smoke.**

“So much for quitting,” Lestrade said, “But at least he’s not doing it himself.”

**John frowns towards him. As Henry takes out a roll-up and lights it, John consults the notes he’s taken so far.**

**JOHN: Um, Henry, your parents both died, and you were, what, seven years old?**

**Henry is concentrating on taking his first drag on his cigarette. As he exhales his first lungful, Sherlock stands up and steps closer to him.**

**HENRY: I know. That ... my ...**

**He stops as Sherlock leans into the smoke drifting up from the cigarette and from Henry’s mouth and breathes in deeply and noisily through his nose. Having sucked up most of the smoke, he sits down again and breathes out, whining quietly in pleasure.**

“Way to potentially scare off your clients, Sherlock…” Molly said quietly. “I’m sure that if he hadn’t impressed Henry with all his life details earlier – and he wasn’t so desperate – he’d probably have run out already.”

“Yeah, that’s how it is with most of our clients,” John told her.

**JOHN (trying hard to ignore him): That must be a ... quite a trauma. Have you ever thought that maybe you invented this story, this…?**

**Henry has exhaled another lungful of smoke and Sherlock dives in to noisily hoover up the smoke again. John pauses patiently until he sits down again.**

**JOHN: ... to account for it?**

**Henry drags his eyes away from Sherlock.**

**HENRY: That’s what Doctor Mortimer says.**

**JOHN: Who?**

**SHERLOCK: His therapist.**

**HENRY (almost simultaneously): My therapist.**

**SHERLOCK: Obviously.**

**HENRY: Louise Mortimer. She’s the reason I came back to Dartmoor. She thinks I have to face my demons.**

**SHERLOCK: And what happened when you went back to Dewer’s Hollow last night, Henry? You went there on the advice of your therapist and now you’re consulting a detective. What did you see that changed everything?**

**HENRY: It’s a strange place, the Hollow.**

**He flashes back in his mind to when he was standing in the Hollow the previous evening.**

**HENRY: Makes you feel so cold inside, so afraid.**

**SHERLOCK (rolling his eyes): Yes, if I wanted poetry, I’d read John’s emails to his girlfriends. Much funnier.**

**John sighs hard in an attempt to release the tension that might make him kill his flatmate.**

More laughter echoed throughout the room at John’s expense. The man in question sunk deeper into his seat, sighing yet again.

**SHERLOCK (to Henry): What did you see?**

**HENRY: Footprints – on the exact spot where I saw my father torn apart.**

**Looking exasperated, Sherlock leans back in his seat.**

**JOHN: Man’s or a woman’s?**

“He probably couldn’t tell in all that fog,” Anderson said. Then he paused for a moment, looking deep in thought. “Is it always that foggy in Dewer’s Hollow? Probably,” he answered his own question.

**HENRY: Neither. They were ...**

**SHERLOCK (interrupting): Is that it? Nothing else. Footprints. Is that all?**

**HENRY: Yes, but they were ...**

**SHERLOCK (interrupting): No, sorry, Doctor Mortimer wins. Childhood trauma masked by an invented memory. -**

Mycroft got that clouded look in his eyes again, and Lestrade caught it again. This, the second time, proved his theory. Mycroft knew something about…someone. Someone close, obviously, or he wouldn’t have been so affected. Sherlock, perhaps? But what childhood trauma could their detective have faced? Was it the reason why he was so…different? Lestrade looked away, determined that he would figure it out. Eventually. It _was_ in his job description to be good at solving mysteries, after all, even if it took him longer than it took Sherlock.

**-Boring! Goodbye, Mr. Knight. Thank you for smoking.**

**HENRY: No, but what about the footprints?**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, they’re probably paw prints; could be anything, therefore nothing.**

**He leans forward in his seat and flicks his fingers at Henry, gesturing him towards the door.**

**SHERLOCK: Off to Devon with you; have a cream tea on me.**

**Standing up and buttoning his jacket, he heads into the kitchen. Henry turns in his seat to look at him.**

**HENRY: Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound!**

**Sherlock stops dead in his tracks, then slowly turns and comes back to the kitchen doorway and stares down at Henry.**

Everyone watched, slightly perplexed. _That_ had definitely caught Sherlock’s attention, but why? Why use the word “hound”? And why would it be the word that brought Sherlock back from _after_ he’d dismissed the case?

**SHERLOCK: Say that again.**

**HENRY: I found the footprints; they were ...**

**SHERLOCK: No, no, no, your exact words. Repeat your exact words from a moment ago, exactly as you said them.**

**Henry thinks for a second, then slowly recites his words back to him.**

**HENRY: Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic ... hound.**

**Sherlock raises his head.**

**SHERLOCK: I’ll take the case.**

**JOHN (startled): Sorry, what?**

**Sherlock adopts the prayer position in front of his mouth and begins to pace slowly across the living room.**

**SHERLOCK: Thank you for bringing this to my attention. It’s very promising.**

**JOHN: No-no-no, sorry, what? A minute ago, footprints were boring; now they’re very promising?**

**SHERLOCK (stopping): It’s nothing to do with footprints. As ever, John, you weren’t listening. Baskerville: ever heard of it?**

**JOHN: Vaguely. It’s very hush-hush.**

**SHERLOCK: Sounds like a good place to start.**

**HENRY: Ah! You’ll come down, then?**

**SHERLOCK: No, I can’t leave London at the moment. Far too busy. Don’t worry – putting my best man onto it.**

**He walks over to John and pats his shoulder.**

**SHERLOCK: Always rely on John to send me the relevant data, as he never understands a word of it himself.**

**JOHN: What are you talking about, you’re busy? You don’t have a case! A minute ago, you were complaining ...**

**SHERLOCK (interrupting): Bluebell, John! I’ve got Bluebell! The case of the vanishing, glow-in-the-dark rabbit! (He looks at Henry.) NATO’s in uproar.**

“What? What’s this all about?” Sally exclaimed.

“He’s got something or another planned,” Lestrade said, squinting at the screen as if that would help him see into the detective’s ever-confusing mind. His actions made absolutely no sense, but surely, it would unravel to make a perfect, paved path for them to follow along.

**HENRY: Oh, sorry, no, you’re not coming, then?**

**Putting on a regretful expression, Sherlock shakes his head sadly. John groans.**

**JOHN: Okay. (He stands up while Sherlock smiles smugly.) Okay.**

**He walks over to the mantelpiece and picks up the skull, taking a packet of cigarettes from underneath it. Putting down the skull again, he turns and tosses the packet across to Sherlock, who catches it and then instantly tosses it over his shoulder.**

Lestrade gave the man next to him a scathing look. “Really, John? Why would you give those to him? And why would you reveal their hiding place?”

“If he wasn’t coming, I was just going to show him what he’d have instead. Otherwise, he would’ve just torn the whole place apart looking for them.”

**SHERLOCK: I don’t need those anymore. I’m going to Dartmoor.**

Lestrade nodded, keeping his eyes on the screen. “So that was just his way of getting their location out of you. Worked wonders, didn’t it?”

John sighed, nodding.

**He walks out of the living room.**

**SHERLOCK: You go on ahead, Henry. We’ll follow later.**

**HENRY (scrambling to his feet): Er, sorry, so you are coming?**

**Sherlock turns and walks back into the room.**

**SHERLOCK: Twenty year old disappearance; a monstrous hound? I wouldn’t miss this for the world!**

“Wait,” Sally said. Her hands were up in front of her in a _stop everything_ gesture. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait, wait. What just happened? I thought he _wasn’t_ going! Now, suddenly he is? He may not be as much of a psychopath as Moriarty, but he’s still looney! That much, you can’t deny!”

John scowled at her. “ _Looney_ is a matter of perspective.” He wouldn’t have her insulting his friend, especially now that he could no longer defend himself from her accusations.

The screen had gone blank again, and once again, there were no words to accompany the dark light emanating from the screen.

“So, what’re we going to say about this case?” Molly asked, looking at John.

“I don’t know. It was a difficult case, to be sure,” John admitted. “But it’s the last one before…”

“Before what, John?”

“Before the end…”

Everyone went silent at that. They’d all been avoiding thinking about it up until that point. No one would speak, so the screen just lit up again, signalling the start of a new section of footage.

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	35. 2x2 Part 2 The Hounds of Baskerville

The next section started up without a sound.

**Later, John carries two large holdalls onto the street, shuts the front door and walks over to Sherlock who is holding a taxi door open. Next door in Speedy’s, Mrs. Hudson is shouting angrily at an unseen Mr. Chatterjee.**

**MRS. HUDSON: ... cruise together. You had no intention of taking me on it ...**

**She throws something at the closed door. As it bounces heavily off the glass, John recoils.**

**JOHN: Oh! Looks like Mrs. Hudson finally got to the wife in Doncaster.**

**SHERLOCK: Mmm. Wait ’til she finds out about the one in Islamabad.**

“What?” Mrs. Hudson sounded equally scandalized and angry – somehow. Everyone else, wisely, did not interfere.

**John sniggers and gets into the taxi. Sherlock follows him in.**

**SHERLOCK (to the driver): Paddington Station, please.**

*****

**DARTMOOR. After many shots of the beautiful Devon scenery which your transcriber is delighted to sit back and watch while resting her aching fingers, we find our boys driving across the moors in a large black Land Rover jeep. Sherlock is driving.**

Sally scratched at the back of her head. “Huh. I didn’t know that Holmes jr. knew how to drive. Guess it’s ‘cause he takes cabs ev’rywhere…”

**Sometime later, away from the road, Sherlock is standing dramatically on a large stone outcrop while John stands at the foot of it consulting a map. He points ahead of himself at a large array of buildings in the distance.**

**JOHN: There’s Baskerville.**

**He turns and points behind them. Sherlock turns to look.**

**JOHN: That’s Grimpen Village.**

**He turns and looks ahead of them again, checking the map for the name of the heavily wooded area to the left of the Baskerville complex.**

**JOHN: So that must be ... yeah, it’s Dewer’s Hollow.**

**Sherlock points to an area in between the complex and the Hollow.**

**SHERLOCK: What’s that?**

**JOHN: Hmm?**

**He has binoculars on a strap around his neck and now he lifts them and looks more closely at the fencing and the warning signs.**

**JOHN: Minefield? Technically Baskerville’s an army base, so I guess they’ve always been keen to keep people out.**

**SHERLOCK: Clearly.**

*****

**Later, they drive into Grimpen Village and pull into the car park of the Cross Keys inn. They get out and walk towards the entrance of the pub, where a young man who is apparently a tour guide is talking to a group of tourists.**

**FLETCHER: ... three times a day, tell your friends. Tell anyone!**

**The boys walk past the group and see that Fletcher is standing next to a large sign on which is painted a black image of a wolf-like creature with the words “BEWARE THE HOUND!!” above it.**

“What a town. Turned a young, frightened boy’s trauma into a bloody tourist attraction!” Sally growled.

**FLETCHER (to the tourists): Don’t be strangers and remember ... stay away from the moor at night if you value your lives!**

**Sherlock has been pulling his overcoat around him as he walks towards the pub, and now he pops the collar. John looks round at him pointedly.**

**SHERLOCK (trying and failing to look nonchalant): I’m cold.**

**The tourist group walks away from Fletcher. Once their backs are turned, he puts on a large shaggy wolf’s-head mask. Sherlock and John walk into the pub, which has a blackboard outside advertising “Boutique Rooms & Vegetarian Cuisine.” Fletcher runs over to a couple of the nearby tourists and roars. They flinch and the woman shrieks in surprise.**

*****

**Flashback to Henry Knight’s father being grabbed by something in Dewer’s Hollow, and young Henry’s horrified face. In the present, adult Henry flinches, his eyes closed as he sits half reclined on a comfortable armchair. The flashbacks continue to haunt him until he opens his eyes and sighs. A woman is sitting a short distance away with a notebook and pen on her lap.**

**HENRY: That part doesn’t change.**

**MORTIMER: What does?**

**Henry runs his hands over his face.**

**HENRY: Oh, there’s something else. It-it’s a word.**

**Sighing heavily in concentration, he closes his eyes again and sees the word as if it is stitched or knitted into some fabric.**

**HENRY: “Liberty.”**

**He opens his eyes again.**

**MORTIMER: Liberty?**

**HENRY (closing his eyes again): There’s another word. (He concentrates and sees the next word stitched in the fabric.) “In.” I-N. “Liberty In.” (He looks at his therapist.) What do you think it means?**

Lestrade leaned closer to John. “That’s “Liberty, Indiana”, right? From the H.O.U.N.D. project?” he asked.

“Yeah,” John whispered back.

**She shakes her head. He sighs in frustration.**

*****

**CROSS KEYS INN. While Sherlock prowls around the interior of the pub, John is at the bar checking in. The manager and barman, Gary, hands him some keys.**

**GARY: Eh, sorry we couldn’t do a double room for you boys.**

Laughter sounded in the room.

**JOHN: That’s fine. We-we’re not ...**

**He looks at the smug knowing smile on Gary’s face and gives up.**

More laughter progressed at John’s expense.

“Will it ever end?” he groaned.

“Not ever, John,” Lestrade said good-heartedly.

**JOHN (giving him some money for the drink he has just bought): There you go.**

**GARY: Oh, ta. I’ll just get your change.**

**JOHN: Ta.**

**As Gary goes to the till John’s glance falls on a pile of receipts and invoices which have been punched onto a spike on the bar. He frowns when he sees that one is labelled “Undershaw Meat Supplies.” Quickly he reaches out and rips it from the spike, putting it into his pocket as Gary comes back with his change.**

**GARY: There you go.**

**JOHN: I couldn’t help noticing on the map of the moor: a skull and crossbones.**

**GARY: Oh that, aye.**

**JOHN: Pirates?!**

**GARY: Eh, no, no. The Great Grimpen Minefield, they call it.**

**JOHN: Oh, right.**

**GARY: It’s not what you think. It’s the Baskerville testing site. It’s been going for eighty-odd years. I’m not sure anyone really knows what’s there anymore.**

**Nearby, Sherlock is still prowling around and now seems to find something of interest at one of the tables.**

**JOHN (to Gary): Explosives?**

**GARY: Oh, not just explosives. Break into that place and – if you’re lucky – you just get blown up, so they say ... in case you’re planning on a nice wee stroll.**

**Sherlock loses interest in the table and wanders off again.**

**JOHN: Ta. I’ll remember.**

**GARY: Aye. No, it buggers up tourism a bit, so thank God for the demon hound! (He chuckles, coming out from behind the bar presumably to clear some glasses.) Did you see that show, that documentary?**

**JOHN: Quite recently, yeah.**

**GARY: Aye. God bless Henry Knight and his monster from hell.**

“It’s kind of sad that they’re using poor Henry’s father’s horrific death and subsequent hallucination as a way to bring in tourists, but even I have to admit that it’s good for the town…” Molly said quietly.

“I know what you mean,” Anderson commented.

**JOHN: Ever seen it – the hound?**

**GARY: Me? No.**

**He points out the door past Sherlock, where Fletcher is just outside the pub and talking on his phone.**

**GARY: Fletcher has. He runs the walks – the Monster Walks for the tourists, you know? He’s seen it.**

**JOHN: That’s handy for trade.**

**Gary turns to a man who is clearly the inn’s cook who has just arrived behind the bar. Meanwhile, Sherlock turns and follows Fletcher as he walks away from the doorway.**

**GARY: I’m just saying we’ve been rushed off our feet, Billy.**

**BILLY: Yeah. Lots of monster-hunters. Doesn’t take much these days. One mention on Twitter and oomph.**

**He looks at Gary.**

**BILLY: We’re out of WKD.**

**GARY: All right.**

**He walks behind the bar again. Billy turns to John.**

**BILLY: What with the monster and that ruddy prison, I don’t know how we sleep nights. Do you, Gary?**

**Gary stops and puts a hand on his shoulder and looks at him affectionately.**

**GARY: Like a baby.**

**BILLY: That’s not true. (He looks at John.) He’s a snorer.**

**GARY (embarrassed, trying to shut him up): Hey, wheesht!**

**BILLY (to John): Is yours a snorer?**

**JOHN: ... Got any crisps?**

“Poor John! Can’t ever get away from it!” Lestrade guffawed.

*****

**Outside, Sherlock swipes a half-drunk pint of beer from a nearby empty table and walks over towards Fletcher, noticing as he does so that he has a copy of the Racing Post newspaper in his trouser pocket. Fletcher has gone over to another of the tables and is just finishing his phone call.**

**FLETCHER: Yeah ... No. All right? Right. Take care. ’Bye.**

**SHERLOCK: Mind if I join you?**

**Fletcher shrugs and gestures to the table. Sherlock puts his pint down and sits on the bench on the other side of the table.**

**SHERLOCK: It’s not true, is it? You haven’t actually seen this ... hound thing. (He grins in a friendly way.)**

**FLETCHER (looking at him suspiciously): You from the papers?**

**SHERLOCK: No, nothing like that. Just curious. Have you seen it?**

**FLETCHER: Maybe.**

**SHERLOCK: Got any proof?**

**FLETCHER: Why would I tell you if I did? ’Scuse me.**

**He stands up to leave just as John comes over with his own drink.**

**JOHN: I called Henry ...**

**SHERLOCK (talking over him): Bet’s off, John, sorry.**

“When’d you guys make a bet?” Anderson asked.

“We didn’t,” John replied.

“What?”

**JOHN (sitting down): What?**

**FLETCHER: Bet?**

**SHERLOCK (looking at his watch): My plan needs darkness. (He looks up at the sky.) Reckon we’ve got another half an hour of light ...**

**FLETCHER: Wait, wait. What bet?**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, I bet John here fifty quid that you couldn’t prove you’d seen the hound.**

**JOHN (catching on immediately and looking at Fletcher): Yeah, the guys in the pub said you could.**

“Quick thinking there, John dear,” Mrs. Hudson complimented. “That’s why you and Sherlock made such a good match; you were the only one who could keep up with his silly shenanigans.”

**Fletcher smiles and points to Sherlock.**

**FLETCHER: Well, you’re gonna lose your money, mate.**

**SHERLOCK: Yeah?**

**FLETCHER: Yeah. I’ve seen it. Only about a month ago, up at the Hollow. It was foggy, mind – couldn’t make much out.**

**SHERLOCK: I see. No witnesses, I suppose.**

**FLETCHER: No, but ...**

**SHERLOCK: Never are.**

**FLETCHER: Wait ...**

**He has been working on his phone and now shows Sherlock a photograph.**

**FLETCHER: There.**

**Sherlock looks at the photograph which shows a dark-furred four-legged something in the distance but, with no scale amongst the surrounding vegetation, it’s impossible to tell the size – or even the species – of the animal. He snorts.**

**SHERLOCK: Is that it? It’s not exactly proof, is it?**

**Fletcher shows the photo to John.**

**SHERLOCK: Sorry, John. I win.**

**He picks up the stolen beer glass and makes as if to drink from it, although he never does.**

**FLETCHER: Wait, wait. That’s not all. People don’t like going up there, you know – to the Hollow. Gives them a ... bad sort of feeling.**

**SHERLOCK: Ooh! Is it haunted? Is that supposed to convince me?**

**He puts down the glass again.**

**FLETCHER: Nah, don’t be stupid, nothing like that, but I reckon there is something out there – something from Baskerville, escaped.**

**SHERLOCK (not really trying to hold back his skeptical snigger): A clone, a super-dog?**

**FLETCHER: Maybe. God knows what they’ve been spraying on us all these years or putting in the water. I wouldn’t trust ’em as far as I could spit.**

**SHERLOCK (nodding to the phone photograph): Is that the best you’ve got?**

**Fletcher hesitates for a long moment but eventually, he speaks reluctantly, lowering his voice.**

**FLETCHER: I had a mate once who worked for the MOD. One weekend we were meant to go fishin’ but he never showed up – well, not ’til late. When he did, he was white as a sheet. I can see him now. “I’ve seen things today, Fletch,” he said, “that I never wanna see again. Terrible things.” He’d been sent to some secret Army place – Porton Down, maybe; maybe Baskerville, or somewhere else.**

**He leans closer.**

**FLETCHER: In the labs there – the really secret labs, he said he’d seen ... terrible things. Rats as big as dogs, he said, and dogs ...**

**He reaches into his bag and pulls something out, showing it to the boys.**

**FLETCHER: ... dogs the size of horses.**

**He is holding a concrete cast of a dog’s paw print – but the print is at least six inches long from the tip of the claws to the back of the pad. Sherlock stares at it in surprise. John immediately pounces.**

Sally whistled. “Never though’ I’d see the day where somethin’ caught Holmes by surprise. Gotta make a note of it on my calendar.” She chuckled a little.

**JOHN: Er, we did say fifty?**

**As Fletcher smiles triumphantly, Sherlock gets out his wallet and hands John a fifty-pound note.**

“Way to go, John,” Lestrade said

“Gotta get it where I can, right?”

**JOHN: Ta.**

**Sulkily, Sherlock gets up and walks away. John finishes his drink and follows him.**

“Did that seem short to you?” Anderson asked as the screen faded to black again. “Because it seemed kind of short to me.”

“Maybe there isn’t a good place to stop later on for a while. It is getting close to lunch,” Molly said.

“We’re in a room with no doors or windows. Not even a clock. How do you know it’s lunchtime?” Anderson asked skeptically.

Molly levelled him with a flat stare. “I dunno. Maybe because I’m getting hungry?”

Anderson blushed as his stomach rumbled, too, almost as if in response to the word. “Oh, right.”

“That’s what I thought,” the pathologist replied, crossing her arms. Right on cue, food appeared in front of them all again, and they dug in.

 _“It’s not quite lunch, but this next part will take a little longer, and this was the only place I could stop it for you all. Enjoy!”_ The words appeared briefly for them yet again.

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	36. 2x2 Part 3 The Hounds of Baskerville

“So, John,” Sally began, turning to him. She’d avoided talking to him about Sherlock up until this point, but now, here curiosity was really eating at her, and she figured now was as good a time as any. “D’you reckon Sherlock really believed that the hound existed after that?”

John shook his head. “Not at that point, no.”

“‘That point’?”

John looked down. “Like I said, this was a hard case.”

Sally grumbled at his cryptic answer but seeing as she wasn’t going to get anything more out of the ex-army doctor, she turned back to the screen, obviously ready to continue watching. Without much ado, the screen lit up and continued the episode.

**Later, Sherlock and John take the car to Baskerville, Sherlock still driving. As they approach the complex, he observes that there are a lot military personnel guarding the place, walking the perimeter etc.**

“Wait. You guys are just driving right through the front gate? How’s that supposed to work?” Anderson pointed out.

All viewers turned to John for an answer, but he just snorted, grinning, and jerked his chin toward the screen. “Keep watching.”

Molly leaned forward. “And what’s with the jerky movements? It kind of reminds me of when we saw Sherlock decode that lady from the first case, and all those other times he’s noticed things. Is that what this is, now?”

John shrugged. “Pro’lly,” he said.

**He drives up to the gates and a military security guard holding a rifle raises a hand. As Sherlock stops the jeep, the man walks around to the driver’s window.**

**SECURITY GUARD: Pass, please.**

**Sherlock reaches into his coat pocket and hands him a pass.**

**SECURITY GUARD: Thank you.**

**He walks away with the pass. At the front of the vehicle, another security man encourages a sniffer dog to check the jeep, presumably for explosives.**

**JOHN (quietly): You’ve got ID for Baskerville. How?**

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Mycroft said, raising an eyebrow in John’s direction. He remembered this day clearly.

**SHERLOCK (quietly): It’s not specific to this place. It’s my brother’s. Access all areas. I, um ... (he clears his throat) ... acquired it ages ago, just in case.**

**The security guard swipes Sherlock’s pass through a reader at the gate room. The screen shows a fairly small photograph of Mycroft and names the cardholder as Mycroft Holmes, giving him Unlimited Access and showing his security status as ‘Secure (No Threat)’.**

“Oh, come on!” Sally cried, throwing her arms toward the screen. “They may be brothers, but they don’t even look alike! And there’s a picture there and everything!” After her outburst, she just kept grumbling.

Meanwhile, Mycroft was going through a list of people in his head who he had to fire.

**JOHN: Brilliant!**

**SHERLOCK: What’s the matter?**

**JOHN: We’ll get caught.**

**SHERLOCK: No, we won’t – well, not just yet.**

**JOHN: Caught in five minutes. “Oh, hi, we just thought we’d come and have a wander around your top-secret-weapons base.” “Really? Great! Come in – kettle’s just boiled.” That’s if we don’t get shot.**

**The gates begin to slide open as the security guard comes back over to the car.**

**SECURITY DOG HANDLER: Clear.**

**SECURITY GUARD (handing Sherlock his pass): Thank you very much, sir.**

**SHERLOCK: Thank you.**

**He puts the car in gear and eases the vehicle forward.**

**SECURITY GUARD: Straight through, sir.**

**JOHN: Mycroft’s name literally opens doors!**

**SHERLOCK: I’ve told you – he practically is the British government. I reckon we’ve got about twenty minutes before they realize something’s wrong.**

“That’s plenty of time, though I guess that depends on how easy it is to find what you’re looking for,” Molly commented.

“What even _were_ you looking for?” Anderson inquired.

“I had no idea; I was just following Sherlock’s lead.”

“So, like always, then?” Lestrade asked teasingly.

John scowled. “Like you do any better!”

“Touché.”

**Sherlock drives up to the main complex at Baskerville, parks the car and he and John get out. Another soldier leads them through barriers and towards an entrance to the main building. As they walk, Sherlock looks around at all the military men patrolling the area, many of them armed. Even the scientists in lab coats are being escorted. As they approach the entrance, a military jeep pulls up and a young corporal gets out.**

**LYONS: What is it? Are we in trouble?**

**SHERLOCK (sternly): “Are we in trouble, sir?”**

“At least he can act the part. Imagine if he couldn’t?” Sally whispered to Anderson.

“Big trouble, I’ll tell you that,” he replied.

**LYONS: Yes, sir, sorry, sir.**

**Nevertheless, he steps in front of them and holds out his hands to prevent them from getting nearer to the entrance.**

**SHERLOCK: You were expecting us?**

**LYONS: Your ID showed up straight away, Mr. Holmes. Corporal Lyons, security. Is there something wrong, sir?**

**SHERLOCK: Well, I hope not, Corporal, I hope not.**

**LYONS: It’s just we don’t get inspected here, you see, sir. It just doesn’t happen.**

**JOHN: Ever heard of a spot check?**

**He takes a small wallet from his pocket and shows the ID inside to the corporal.**

**JOHN: Captain John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers.**

“Comes in handy, having an army ID, doesn’t it?” Lestrade said aside to John.

He only received a half-nod in return.

**Even before he finishes speaking, the corporal comes to attention and salutes. John crisply returns the salute.**

**LYONS: Sir. Major Barrymore won’t be pleased, sir. He’ll want to see you both.**

“Oh no! That cuts into their time, which was already short enough!” Molly fretted quietly.

**JOHN: I’m afraid we won’t have time for that. We’ll need the full tour right away. Carry on.**

**The corporal hesitates.**

**JOHN (instantly): That’s an order, Corporal.**

**LYONS: Yes, sir.**

**He spins around and walks towards the entrance. Sherlock glances across to John with a proud smile on his face as they follow.**

John blushed a little as he saw the smile cast his way on screen, as well as the sly one thrown at him from Lestrade.

**At the entrance, which is marked “AUTOMATIC SECURITY DOOR,” Lyons swipes his pass through a reader, then waits for Sherlock to walk over and do the same with his own pass. The message “ACCESS GRANTED” appears on the reader. Lyons then presses a button and the locks on the door disengage. Sherlock checks his watch.**

**Elsewhere, probably a long way from Baskerville, a message flashes up on a screen:**

*****

**CCV1 • security authorization requested •**

**holmes, mycroft • priority ultra**

**processing CCV1 •**

**5555*0000*x1 //5894**

*****

**The security request begins to process. At Baskerville, the door swings open and Lyons leads the other two inside, taking off his beret as he goes. As he leads them towards the next security door, the boys talk quietly.**

**SHERLOCK: Nice touch.**

**JOHN: Haven’t pulled rank in ages.**

Lestrade chuckled. “Well, you sure weren’t rusty at all.”

**SHERLOCK: Enjoy it?**

**JOHN: Oh yeah.**

A few laughs sounded.

**Reaching the door, Lyons swipes his pass and then steps aside for Sherlock to do likewise. As he does so and another “ACCESS GRANTED” message appears, the authorization request is sent out again. The doors slide open and reveal an elevator on the other side. Lyons leads them inside and Sherlock looks at the wall panel. The lift, now on the ground floor, only goes downwards to five floors marked -1, -2, -3, -4 and B. Lyons presses the -1 button and the doors close, opening shortly afterwards on the next floor down. Lyons leads them out into a brightly lit and white tiled laboratory. As they walk forward, various scientific staff dressed either in white coveralls including full breathing masks or in lab coats and face masks walk around the lab. There are large cages to the right of the elevator and as Lyons leads the way past them, a monkey screams and hurls itself at the bars towards them. Sherlock spins on his heel as he passes the cage, looking at the monkey and the chain around its neck.**

**SHERLOCK: How many animals do you keep down here?**

**LYONS: Lots, sir.**

“That’s specific,” Sally grumbled.

**At the far end of the lab, a scientist wearing coveralls and a breathing mask comes out of another room and takes off his mask. Another scientist walks across the lab with a beagle on a lead.**

**SHERLOCK: Any ever escape?**

**LYONS: They’d have to know how to use that lift, sir. We’re not breeding them that clever.**

**SHERLOCK: Unless they have help.**

**The man who just took off his mask comes over to the group.**

**FRANKLAND: Ah, and you are?**

**LYONS: Sorry, Doctor Frankland. I’m just showing these gentlemen around.**

**FRANKLAND (smiling at them): Ah, new faces, huh? Nice. Careful you don’t get stuck here, though. I only came to fix a tap!**

**John chuckles politely as Frankland walks towards the lift. John turns to Lyons.**

**JOHN: How far down does that lift go?**

**LYONS: Quite a way, sir.**

“He’s deflecting all of their questions. Anyone else find that suspicious?” Anderson asked.

Sally scowled, clipping him on the back of the head. “It’s called a _secret base_ for a reason, idiot!”

“You’d think that they’d tell someone as high up as Mycroft Holmes these things!”

**JOHN: Mmm-hmm. And what’s down there?**

**LYONS: Well, we have to keep the bins somewhere, sir. This way please, gentlemen.**

**Sherlock is watching Frankland as he reaches the elevator. Frankland in turn looks around to gaze with interest at the new arrivals. While Lyons leads John away, Sherlock walks backwards for a couple of paces before turning to follow.**

“He’s suspicious of them. You reckon he knows who they are?” Anderson asked Sally.

“Probably does.”

**JOHN: So what exactly is it that you do here?**

**LYONS: I thought you’d know, sir, this being an inspection.**

“That was a bit hostile, don’t you think?” Molly asked. “That seemed like a perfectly reasonable question.”

**Sherlock is looking at the various scientists around the room, a couple looking at a rat in a glass cage, another one doing something to the leg of a monkey on a leash which is sitting on a metal table. Nearby, another scientist picks up what looks ominously like a glass container of serum.**

**JOHN: Well, I’m not an expert, am I?**

**LYONS: Everything from stem cell research to trying to cure the common cold, sir.**

**JOHN: But mostly weaponry?**

**LYONS: Of one sort or another, yes.**

**He swipes his card through the reader of a door at the side of the lab, then steps aside for Sherlock to do likewise.**

**JOHN: Biological, chemical ...?**

**LYONS: One war ends, another begins, sir. New enemies to fight. We have to be prepared.**

**As the door releases, Sherlock checks his watch. The security authorization message goes out again, the message changing slightly:**

*****

**CCV1 • security authorization //5894**

  * **query • query • query**



**CCV1 • 5555*0000*x1**

*****

**Lyons leads them through the doors and into another lab where a monkey stands up on its back legs with one hand high in the air and shrieks before sitting down again on a high metal table. A female scientist looks at it and then turns to her colleague.**

**STAPLETON: Okay, Michael, let’s try Harlow Three next time.**

**As she walks away from the table, Lyons approaches her.**

**LYONS: Doctor Stapleton.**

**SHERLOCK (thoughtfully): Stapleton.**

“He recognizes that name, obviously,” Lestrade said. “That was the…?” He trailed off, wracking his brain for the details that eluded him. After a few seconds, he scoffed and shrugged, deciding to just keep watching.

**STAPLETON: Yes? (She looks at Sherlock and John.) Who’s this?**

**LYONS: Priority Ultra, ma’am. Orders from on high. An inspection.**

**STAPLETON: Really?**

**SHERLOCK: We’re to be accorded every courtesy, Doctor Stapleton. What’s your role at Baskerville?**

**Stapleton looks at him and snorts with disbelieving laughter.**

**JOHN: Er, accorded every courtesy, isn’t that the idea?**

Lestrade then leaned toward Mycroft and whispered, “If it had actually been you that they were talking to, would you have taken that disrespect?”

Mycroft frowned. “Despite what my brother will have you believe; I only manage a small part of British Intelligence. Considering inspections are not done at this base, I wouldn’t even be there in the first place, and if so, a reaction such as that would be expected.

**STAPLETON: I’m not free to say. Official secrets.**

**SHERLOCK (smiling at her): Oh, you most certainly are free ... (his smile fades and his voice becomes ominous) ... and I suggest you remain that way.**

“That’s not ominous at all, is it?” Sally grumbled, her voice full of sarcasm.

**She looks at him for a moment.**

**STAPLETON: I have a lot of fingers in a lot of pies. I like to mix things up – genes, mostly; now and again actual fingers.**

**Sherlock has had a lightbulb moment when she said the words ‘genes’ and is reaching into his pocket before she finishes the sentence.**

**SHERLOCK: Stapleton. I knew I knew your name.**

**STAPLETON: I doubt it.**

**SHERLOCK: People say there’s no such thing as coincidence. What dull lives they must lead.**

**He holds up his notebook to her on which he has written a single large word: “BLUEBELL”. She stares at it in amazement while Sherlock watches her face closely.**

“The rabbit! Of course! The little girl who contacted Sherlock about the escaped rabbit was called Stapleton, isn’t that right?” Anderson exclaimed.

Nearly everyone in the room sighed at his enthusiasm.

**STAPLETON: Have you been talking to my daughter?**

**SHERLOCK (putting his notebook away): Why did Bluebell have to die, Doctor Stapleton?**

**JOHN (bewildered): The rabbit?**

**SHERLOCK (to Stapleton, as she stares at him blankly): Disappeared from inside a locked hutch, which was always suggestive.**

**JOHN: The rabbit?**

**SHERLOCK: Clearly an inside job.**

**STAPLETON: Oh, you reckon?**

**SHERLOCK: Why? Because it glowed in the dark.**

**STAPLETON: I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about. Who are you?**

**Even as she speaks Sherlock checks his watch again. Out in the security system somewhere, the authorization request changes:**

*****

**CCV1 • security authorization**

  * **• alert •• alert ••**



**potential level 5 security breach**

**5555*0000*x1 //5894**

*****

**Someone looking at the screen picks up a phone and lifts the handset to their ear. At Baskerville, Sherlock lowers his hand and turns to Lyons.**

**SHERLOCK: Well, I think we’ve seen enough for now, Corporal. Thank you so much.**

**LYONS (surprised): That’s it?**

“He was _so_ reluctant to have them there, and when Sherlock decides it’s time to leave, the guy’s disappointed?” Anderson muttered.

“Wouldn’t you be?” Sally asked, elbowing him.

**SHERLOCK: That’s it. (He turns and heads briskly back towards the door, John following behind and Lyons trailing after them.) It’s this way, isn’t it?**

**STAPLETON (calling after them): Just a minute!**

**John catches up to his friend and speaks quietly so that Lyons can’t overhear him. His tone suggests that he is not best pleased.**

**JOHN: Did we just break into a military base to investigate a rabbit?**

“It seems that way, yes,” Lestrade said, mock-thoughtfully. He stroked the whiskers on his chin, and though he was amused at John’s on-screen reaction, he was also confused.

**Sherlock reaches the door and swipes his card, then waits for Lyons to catch up to them and do the same with his own card. In Whitehall or somewhere similar, telephones begin to ring as a chain of calls relays the potential security breach and the message goes out:**

*****

  * **URGENT • URGENT • URGENT •**



**refer holmes, mycroft**

*****

**Sitting in what can surely only be the Diogenes Club with a cup of coffee on the table beside him, Mycroft takes out his phone when it trills quietly. Looking at the message, he rolls his eyes in exasperation, gazes off into space with a “Good God – what now?!” look on his face for a moment and then begins to text.**

**At Baskerville, Sherlock walks swiftly through the security doors and heads for the lift as his phone trills a text alert. He takes out his phone without stopping and reads the message:**

*****

**What are you**

**doing?**

**M**

*****

**He laughs sarcastically.**

**SHERLOCK: Twenty-three minutes. Mycroft’s getting slow.**

“Did he just say that in full-volume of everyone in the room, including the corporal behind him?” Molly asked in disbelief.

John waved off her concern. “Don’t worry about that.”

**Reaching the lift doors, he swipes his card and Lyons does likewise. The doors open revealing Doctor Frankland standing inside as if he has been waiting in there. Trying to look nonchalant, he smiles at them.**

**FRANKLAND: Hello ... again.**

John scowled upon seeing him.

**Narrowing his eyes suspiciously, Sherlock walks into the lift with the others. Very shortly afterwards, one floor up, the doors open again and reveal a bearded man in military uniform waiting for them. He does not look happy.**

**LYONS: Er, um, Major ...**

**BARRYMORE: This is bloody outrageous. Why wasn’t I told?**

**JOHN: Major Barrymore, is it? (He steps out of the lift towards him.) Yes, well, good. Very good. (He offers him his hand to shake.) We’re very impressed, aren’t we, Mr. Holmes?**

**Barrymore refuses to take John’s hand. Sherlock’s phone sounds another text alert and he reaches into his pocket for it again.**

**SHERLOCK: Deeply; hugely.**

**He walks past Barrymore as he looks at his text message which reads:**

*****

**What’s going on**

**Sherlock?**

**M**

*****

**The major follows along behind the boys while Sherlock hurries towards the exit door.**

**BARRYMORE: The whole point of Baskerville was to eliminate this kind of bureaucratic nonsense ...**

“At least it’s only that,” Molly said, relieved. Honestly, she hadn’t taken a proper breath since the alarm had sounded, and she was still having difficulty as the tension stagnated. “He hasn’t caught on to their invasion yet.”

**SHERLOCK: I’m so sorry, Major.**

**BARRYMORE: Inspections?!**

**SHERLOCK: New policy. Can’t remain unmonitored forever. Goodness knows what you’d get up to. (Urgently and quietly to John) Keep walking.**

**Lyons has briefly ducked into a side room but now hurries out again.**

**LYONS: Sir!**

**He slaps an alarm button on the wall. Alarms start to blare, red lights flash and the automated security door locks itself. The others turn back to him.**

The entire room took a sudden, unified, intake of breath.

**LYONS: ID unauthorized, sir.**

**BARRYMORE: What?**

**LYONS: I’ve just had the call.**

**BARRYMORE: Is that right?**

**He turns to Sherlock and John.**

**BARRYMORE: Who are you?**

**JOHN: Look, there’s obviously been some kind of mistake.**

**A little further back, Frankland is slowly walking towards the group, looking thoughtful. Barrymore holds out his hand for Sherlock’s ID card, which he gives to him. He looks at the card and then up at Sherlock.**

“That has his picture on it, doesn’t it? They’re in trouble now,” Sally said. Her shoulders tensed; muscles locked. Her leg bounced nervously and impatiently.

**BARRYMORE: Clearly not, Mycroft Holmes.**

**JOHN (getting out a notebook and starting to write): Computer error, Major. It’ll all have to go in the report.**

**BARRYMORE: What the hell’s going on?!**

**FRANKLAND: It’s all right, Major. I know exactly who these gentlemen are.**

“Oh no! They’re so busted!” Anderson said, barely above a whisper. He almost wasn’t heard over the alarms sounding on the television.

**BARRYMORE: You do?**

**FRANKLAND: Yeah. I’m getting a little slow on faces but Mr. Holmes here isn’t someone I expected to show up in this place.**

**SHERLOCK: Ah, well ...**

**FRANKLAND (offering him his hand to shake): Good to see you again, Mycroft.**

Despite the confusion, there was an immediate release of tension and breath throughout the group. Mycroft was the only one unaffected by the ordeal, though he did have a deep, disappointed frown on his face.

**John tries to mask his surprise. Smiling falsely, Sherlock shakes Frankland’s hand.**

**FRANKLAND: I had the honour of meeting Mr. Holmes at the W.H.O. conference in ... (he pretends to think) ... Brussels, was it?**

**SHERLOCK: Vienna.**

**FRANKLAND: Vienna, that’s it.**

**He looks at Barrymore.**

**FRANKLAND: This is Mr. Mycroft Holmes, Major. There’s obviously been a mistake.**

“That was a surprise for sure,” Lestrade said. “But not an unwelcome one.”

“Why’d he lie like that?” Anderson asked. “If he’d actually met Mycroft before he’d never have done that, especially with so much confidence.”

**Barrymore turns and nods to Lyons, who goes back to the alarm switch and turns it off. The lights stop flashing and the alarm falls silent. A moment later the entrance door’s lock disengages noisily.**

**BARRYMORE (turning back to Frankland): On your head be it, Doctor Frankland.**

**FRANKLAND (laughing as he looks at the approaching Corporal Lyons): I’ll show them out, Corporal.**

**LYONS: Very well, sir.**

**Sherlock spins on his heel and walks towards the now open entrance door. John and Frankland follow him while Barrymore glares after them unhappily. The boys go outside, John grimacing anxiously with an “Oh gods, I really hope we’re going to get away with this!” expression on his face. Frankland trots after them.**

**SHERLOCK: Thank you.**

**FRANKLAND: This is about Henry Knight, isn’t it?**

**They don’t answer him, but he takes their silence as agreement.**

**FRANKLAND: I thought so. I knew he wanted help, but I didn’t realize he was going to contact Sherlock Holmes!**

“Again, they’re talking really loud about stuff that could get them in trouble!” Molly said with a grimace.

“Bah! No one’s listening!” Lestrade assured her.

**Sherlock grimaces.**

**FRANKLAND: Oh, don’t worry. I know who you really are. I’m never off your website. Thought you’d be wearing the hat, though.**

**SHERLOCK: That wasn’t my hat.**

**FRANKLAND (to John): I hardly recognize him without the hat!**

Lestrade gave a short bark of laughter at Sherlock’s expense.

**John tries unsuccessfully to bite back a smile.**

**SHERLOCK (tetchily, sounding the ‘t’s loudly): It wasn’t my hat.**

**FRANKLAND: I love the blog too, Doctor Watson.**

“Oh! So, he’s originally a fan of Sherlock’s website and just happens to read the blog. That’s…pretty lucky,” Anderson said.

“Yeah,” John said the word slowly as if rolling it around on his tongue first before releasing it. “Lucky.”

**JOHN: Oh, cheers!**

**FRANKLAND: The, er, the Pink thing ...**

**JOHN: Mm-hm.**

**FRANKLAND: ... and that one about the aluminum crutch!**

Sally nodded slowly. “We haven’t seen the one about the aluminum crutch in these videos. I guess it had nothing to do with Moriarty. All the ones we’ve seen have had something or other to do with him.”

“So, you admit that he wasn’t a character of Sherlock’s own invention?” John asked her pointedly.

Sally scowled, seeing her slip. “Maybe.”

**JOHN: Yes.**

**SHERLOCK (stopping and turning back to Frankland): You know Henry Knight?**

**FRANKLAND: Well, I knew his dad better. He had all sorts of mad theories about this place. Still, he was a good friend.**

**He looks back the way they came and sees that Major Barrymore is standing some distance away and watching them. He turns back to Sherlock.**

**FRANKLAND: Listen, I can’t really talk now.**

**He takes a card from his coat pocket and hands it over.**

**FRANKLAND: Here’s my, er, cell number. If I could help with Henry, give me a call.**

**SHERLOCK: I never did ask, Doctor Frankland. What exactly is it that you do here?**

**FRANKLAND: Oh, Mr. Holmes, I would love to tell you – but then, of course, I’d have to kill you!**

John grimaced for two reasons at that statement.

**He laughs cheerfully.**

**SHERLOCK (straight-faced): That would be tremendously ambitious of you.**

**Frankland’s smile fades and he shrugs in embarrassment.**

**SHERLOCK: Tell me about Doctor Stapleton.**

**FRANKLAND: Never speak ill of a colleague.**

**SHERLOCK: Yet you’d speak well of one, which you’re clearly omitting to do.**

**FRANKLAND: I do seem to be, don’t I? (He shrugs.)**

**SHERLOCK (raising the card that Frankland just gave him): I’ll be in touch.**

**FRANKLAND: Any time.**

**The boys walk away from him and head towards their Land Rover.**

**JOHN: So?**

**SHERLOCK: So?**

**JOHN: What was all that about the rabbit?**

**Smiling briefly, Sherlock pulls his coat tighter around himself, flipping up the collar just as they reach the car. John rolls his eyes and turns to him.**

**JOHN: Oh, please, can we not do this, this time?**

**SHERLOCK: Do what?**

**JOHN: You being all mysterious with your…cheekbones and turning your coat collar up so you look cool.**

There was more laughter, though this time it was almost uncontrolled in its passion and volume.

“Mysterious with his cheekbones! That’s brilliant!” Lestrade shouted.

John just blushed.

**As he turns to go to the car door, Sherlock opens his mouth to speak but is apparently so disconcerted that for a moment he can’t find the words.**

“And suddenly the great Sherlock Holmes is at a loss for words,” Anderson said, wiping a tear from his eye.

**SHERLOCK: ... I don’t do that.**

**JOHN: Yeah you do.**

**They get into the car.**

*****

**Later, Sherlock is driving them across the moors.**

**JOHN: So, the email from Kirsty – the, er, missing luminous rabbit.**

**SHERLOCK: Kirsty Stapleton, whose mother specializes in genetic manipulation.**

“Who would’ve thought that those two cases would coincide? Makes you think that maybe someone _is_ controlling it all from behind the scenes,” Molly said.

**JOHN: She made her daughter’s rabbit glow in the dark.**

**SHERLOCK: Probably a fluorescent gene removed and spliced into the specimen. Simple enough these days.**

**JOHN: So ...**

**He looks across to Sherlock and waits for him to continue the sentence.**

**SHERLOCK: So, we know that Doctor Stapleton performs secret genetic experiments on animals. The question is: has she been working on something deadlier than a rabbit?**

**JOHN: To be fair, that is quite a wide field.**

**Sherlock looks around at John in startled surprise as if realizing that that’s true.**

“You know what, John? I’ve just learned something new about you,” Lestrade said, leaning back as if to get a full view of the man sitting next to him as the screen turned to black yet again.

“And what is that, Greg?” he asked.

“You get real sarcastic when you’re in stressful situations. A real sense of humour in you.” He laughed.

“What would you have said to that, then?”

Lestrade remained silent, still to amused.

“At least now I know who to fire for that whole mishap,” Mycroft said, clearly flustered by the lack of security at the _top-secret_ army base.

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	37. 2x2 Part 4 The Hounds of Baskerville

The next section began without a hitch, nor any comment from their still-mysterious captor. Hopefully, when this and the next case – the final case – were over, they’d finally learn who was holding them here this whole time.

**HENRY KNIGHT’S HOUSE. His home is enormous – a four-storey stone building that was probably a very important property in the area in the past. A large old-fashioned glass conservatory is attached to the rear of the building on the ground floor and a modern two-storey glass extension has been built onto the side of the house to join it to another two-storey stone building nearby. Sherlock and John go into the conservatory, which looks very run-down and clearly hasn’t had a paint job in years and walk across to the door on the opposite side. Sherlock rings the doorbell and Henry opens the door.**

**HENRY: Hi.**

**JOHN: Hi.**

**HENRY: Come in, come in.**

**Wiping his feet on the doormat, Sherlock walks in and heads down the hallway. John follows more slowly, stopping to look into a large high-ceilinged sitting room before following Henry again.**

**JOHN: This is, uh... Are you, um...**

**He searches for the right word for a moment before finding it.**

**JOHN: ...rich?**

**HENRY: Yeah.**

**JOHN: Right.**

“I guess you weren’t expecting that, were you, John?” Lestrade asked. “Your face is hilarious.”

John shrugged. “He’s been nearly raving mad when he came to us. I guess I just assumed he was another of those clients that was down on his luck. Sherlock doesn’t charge the client, but he only takes the case if it’s interesting enough. That’s why we get so many yet so few.”

Lestrade just nodded while Anderson and Sally stared at the former army doctor in amazement and confusion. They’d never realized that Sherlock didn’t charge his clients. Obviously, he didn’t get paid by the police, but they’d assumed that he’d at least get paid from the other cases that he did. Was it a sense of charity, or just going along with his sick hunger for murderous mystery?

**Henry leads off again. Sherlock throws a dark look at John before following him.**

“He sure makes himself well at home in that house,” Sally grumbled. “It’s like he’s been there before; he’s not getting lost like most people would.”

Mycroft scoffed as he heard the words she’d muttered under her breath. “It’s smaller than the house we grew up in, so yes, I’d assume my brother wouldn’t have any trouble navigating it.”

John cut in before Sally could stare, blatantly shocked, at Mycroft. “Besides, I’m sure he could deduce the layout of the house from the outside, anyway. An old house like that would have a practical layout.”

*****

**Not long afterwards, in the kitchen in the glass extension, Sherlock spoons two sugar lumps into his mug and stirs them in. He is sitting on a stool at the central island and John is sitting next to him. Henry is standing at the side of the island gazing down at the work surface.**

**HENRY: It’s-it’s a couple of words. It’s what I keep seeing. “Liberty” ...**

**JOHN (reaching into his pocket for his notebook): Liberty.**

**HENRY (looking up to him): “Liberty” and ... “in.” It’s just that.**

**He picks up the bottle of milk that’s on the island.**

**HENRY: Are you finished?**

**JOHN: Mm.**

**Henry turns around to put the milk into the fridge. John looks at Sherlock.**

**JOHN: Mean anything to you?**

**SHERLOCK (softly): “Liberty in death” – isn’t that the expression? The only true freedom.**

**John nods in agreement as Henry turns back around, sighing. Sherlock takes a drink from his mug.**

**HENRY: What now, then?**

“What now, indeed,” Mycroft said, his voice soft and quiet.

**JOHN: Sherlock’s…got a plan?**

**SHERLOCK: Yes.**

**HENRY: Right.**

**SHERLOCK: We take you back out onto the moor ...**

**HENRY (nervously): Okay ...**

**SHERLOCK: ... and see if anything attacks you.**

**JOHN: What?!**

**SHERLOCK: That should bring things to a head.**

**HENRY: At night? You want me to go out there at night?**

**SHERLOCK: Mm.**

**JOHN: That’s your plan? (He snorts laughter.) Brilliant!**

**SHERLOCK: Got any better ideas?**

**JOHN: That’s not a plan.**

**SHERLOCK: Listen, if there is a monster out there, John, there’s only one thing to do: find out where it lives.**

“See?” Sally whispered to Anderson, making extra sure that no one else could hear her. “See? It’s things like that, that make me think he’s a bit wacked in the head. Who else would have such a reckless idea?”

Anderson, who had already seemed to succumb to the other’s ideas, sent her a dirty look, but said nothing – it was not his place after the way he himself had acted towards the “late” detective.

**He looks round to Henry and smiles widely at him before taking another drink from his mug. Henry does not look encouraged by this.**

*****

**DUSK. THE MOORS. As night begins to fall, Henry leads Sherlock and John across the rocks towards Dewer’s Hollow. All three of them have flashlights to light the uneven ground below their feet. Foxes scream repeatedly in the distance.**

“How the _bloody hell_ did he manage to convince Henry to go out there?” Sally burst out, completely befuddled. She was so confused that she didn’t even think about censoring herself in front of her boss (and her boss’ boss).

John gave a dark chuckle. “Believe me, I’m still asking myself that to this day, and I was there!”

**By the time they reach the woods it is almost full dark, and it becomes even darker when they head into the trees. John, bringing up the rear, hears rustling to his right and turns around to look.**

“Why are there so many creepy sounds?” Molly asked as she ducked in her seat yet again from the sudden sound.

“Dramatic effect?” John replied, uncertain.

**The other two don’t notice and continue onwards while John walks cautiously towards the sound he heard. He shines his torch into the bushes as an owl shrieks overhead, but he can see nothing. Raising his head, he sees a light repeatedly winking on and off at the top of a hillside a fair distance away. He looks around to alert his friend.**

**JOHN: Sher...**

**It’s only then that he realizes that the other two have disappeared out of sight. He shines his flashlight in the direction they went but there’s no sign of them. He looks back to the light on the hillside, which is still intermittently flashing, and gets his notebook out of his pocket because he has recognized that the flashes are Morse code. He starts to write down the letters while speaking them aloud.**

**JOHN (softly): U... M... Q... R... A.**

**The light stops flashing. John looks down at his notebook.**

**JOHN (in a whisper): U, M, Q, R, A. (He tries it as a word.) Umqra?**

“Did you ever figure out what that meant?” Lestrade asked.

John shook his head. “Turns out, it wasn’t Morse Code at all. I misread the lights.” He said nothing more to elaborate, not wanting to interrupt the sequence on screen and knowing that it would be explained later anyway.

**Shaking his head, he looks up to the hillside again, but no more light comes from it. Shutting the notebook, he heads off in the direction of the other two.**

**JOHN (whispering): Sherlock...**

**Henry and Sherlock are a long way ahead and Henry’s torch shows that they’re at the edge of the minefield with its fencing and warning signs. They make their way along the edge of the fencing while John trails a long way behind them, still whispering his friend’s name repeatedly.**

**JOHN: Sherlock... Sherlock...**

**Up ahead, Sherlock breaks the silence.**

**SHERLOCK: Met a friend of yours.**

**HENRY: What?**

**SHERLOCK: Doctor Frankland.**

**HENRY: Oh, right. Bob, yeah.**

“That doesn’t seem too friendly,” Molly pointed out.

John scoffed. “Oh, yeah. Real friendly.” There was a bite to his tone.

Molly sent him a questioning glance, but he had already turned away from her, eye glued to the screen.

**SHERLOCK: Seems pretty concerned about you.**

**HENRY: He’s a worrier, bless him. He’s been very kind to me since I came back.**

**SHERLOCK: He knew your father.**

**HENRY: Yeah.**

**SHERLOCK: But he works at Baskerville. Didn’t your dad have a problem with that?**

**HENRY: Well, mates are mates, aren’t they? I mean, look at you and John.**

**SHERLOCK: What about us?**

**HENRY: Well, I mean, he’s a pretty straightforward bloke, and you...**

“Enough said, there,” Lestrade said with a chuckle. He leaned back in his seat again, crossing his arms. Creases formed in the inner-elbows of his tweed jacket.

**Glancing back at Sherlock’s grim expression, he decides not to follow that line.**

**HENRY: They agreed never to talk about work, Uncle Bob and my dad.**

**He stops and turns to his left. As Sherlock stops and looks at him, Henry nods in the direction he’s looking.**

**HENRY (unhappily): Dewer’s Hollow.**

**Sherlock turns and looks at the steep drop in the land that leads down into a misty dark valley.**

**Some distance behind them, John is still following their trail.**

**JOHN (whispering): Sherlock...**

“Okay, John, seriously?” Anderson asked. “How is he supposed to hear you if you’re whispering? The crows are louder than you!”

John’s face flushed red.

**As he progresses onwards, he hears an eerie metallic thrumming sound. He stops and aims his flashlight in the direction of the sound, then goes to move onwards just as the thrum sounds again. The sound continues to repeat, now interspersed with short metallic pings. John walks slowly towards the sound, then quietly chuckles when he sees a rusty metal container, possibly an oil drum, which is lying in the undergrowth. Water is dripping from the tree above it and causing the thrums and pings as it strikes the drum. Just as John looks at it and sighs with relief, something massive flashes past behind him. John spins and looks but it’s already gone, but a couple of seconds later an anguished animalistic howl sounds in the distance. John turns and begins to hurry to find the others.**

**Sherlock is heading down into the Hollow, being careful to keep his balance on the steep slippery ground. Henry follows him down more slowly.**

Molly shuddered. “Is this music really necessary?” she asked.

“Sure,” Lestrade said. “Raises the suspense, do’n’it?” Despite his smooth tone, there was a tense shake in the bouncing of his right leg.

**Sherlock reaches the bottom and shines his torch around, finding giant paw prints all around the area. Some distance away, John is now running to get to the others. Another long, anguished howl rings out. Still halfway down the slope, Henry pauses. Sherlock shines his torch up in the direction of the sound ... and his face begins to fill with horror at the sight which greets him. It is unclear what he is looking at, but whatever it is, growls savagely from the top of the Hollow. As the beam from Sherlock’s flashlight flails along the Hollow’s rim, the whatever-it-is has already retreated. Sherlock recoils, his face confused and bewildered as he tries to take in what he just saw.**

The room was silent.

“I’ve never seen him look like that…” Molly whispered, hands in front of her mouth as if speaking any louder would shatter the delicate orb of glass that was enclosed around them.

**From his position some distance away, Henry hurries down to join him.**

**HENRY: Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Did you see it?**

**Sherlock lowers his head, still unable to get his mind to accept the evidence of his eyes. He stares around, shaking his head, then shoves Henry out of his way and hurries back up the hillside. Henry follows him.**

**Very shortly afterwards, John finally meets up with the other two making their way back.**

**JOHN (referring to the howling): Did you hear that?**

**Sherlock storms straight past him. John turns and follows.**

**HENRY: We saw it. We saw it.**

**SHERLOCK: No. I didn’t see anything.**

“Why is he denying it? He obviously saw _whatever_ that thing was, even if _we_ didn’t!” Sally complained.

Mycroft scowled. “No. He didn’t _see_ anything. If he had, we would’ve seen it, too. This scenario being any different from the others would be too outlandish. Obviously, there is something greater at work here.”

**HENRY (chasing after him): What? What are you talking about?**

**SHERLOCK: I didn’t. See. Anything.**

**He hurries onwards with Henry and John trailing along behind him.**

*****

**Sometime later at Henry’s house, Henry and John hurry indoors. Sherlock isn’t with them.**

**HENRY: Look, he must have seen it. I saw it – he must have. He must have. I can’t... Why? Why?**

Molly stared at the screen with a sorrowful look. “Oh, that poor, poor man…” she whispered.

**He stops in the doorway of the sitting room, turning back to John in anguish.**

**HENRY: Why would he say that? It-it-it-it-it was there. It was.**

**Taking off his gloves, John ushers him across to the sofa.**

**JOHN: Henry, Henry, I need you to sit down, try and relax, please.**

**HENRY (sitting on the sofa): I’m okay, I’m okay.**

**JOHN: Listen, I’m gonna give you something to help you sleep, all right?**

**He looks around the room and sees a bottle of water on a bureau nearby. He goes over to get it, while Henry unwraps his scarf from his neck, smiling.**

**HENRY: This is good news, John. It’s-it’s-it’s good. I’m not crazy. There is a hound; there...there is. And Sherlock – he saw it too. No matter what he said, he saw it.**

*****

**Later, Sherlock is back at the inn. Sitting in an armchair by a roaring open fire, his face is still full of shock and disbelief.**

Everyone in the room was silent, having never seen emotion – let alone _distress_ – on the detective’s face before. Only John and Mycroft were privy to Sherlock’s more emotional moments, and even then, they were far and few between.

Sally and Anderson were shocked the most, mostly because they hadn’t believed that the man they’d hated for so long _had_ emotions to begin with, but…as it turned out, these videos were contradicting all sorts of assumptions of theirs.

**Unaware of his distress, other patrons sit at nearby tables having their evening meal. John comes in and sits down in the armchair on the other side of the fire.**

**JOHN: Well, he is in a pretty bad way. He’s manic, totally convinced there’s some mutant super-dog roaming the moors.**

**With his hands in the prayer position in front of his mouth, Sherlock glances nervously at John for a moment, then continues to gaze in the direction of the fire, lost in thought.**

**JOHN: And there isn’t, though, is there? ’Cause if people knew how to make a mutant super-dog, we’d know.**

**Sherlock clasps his fingers together, closing his eyes and breathing heavily as if trying to fend off a panic attack.**

“Did you suddenly become unable to detect distress, John, or is it just because this is Sherlock?” Lestrade asked, glaring at his friend for being unable to see the obvious distress on Sherlock’s face.

“I never thought it would be true, or that Sherlock would see it,” John admitted. “Nothing seemed to be able to shake him.”

**JOHN: They’d be for sale. I mean, that’s how it works.**

**He remembers something and reaches for his notebook.**

**JOHN: Er, listen: er, on the moor I saw someone signalling. Er, Morse – I guess it’s Morse.**

**Sherlock blinks rapidly and repeatedly.**

**JOHN (looking at his notes): Doesn’t seem to make much sense.**

**Sherlock pulls in a sharp breath through his nose and then blows the breath out again through his mouth.**

**JOHN: Er, U, M, Q, R, A. Does that mean...anything ...**

**He finally realizes how distressed his colleague is looking and pauses for a moment. He puts his notebook away and sits back in his chair.**

**JOHN: So, okay, what have we got? We know there’s footprints, ‘cause Henry found them, so did the tour guide bloke. We all heard something.**

**Sherlock blows out another shaky breath. John looks across to him and frowns momentarily.**

**JOHN: Maybe we should just look for whoever’s got a big dog.**

**SHERLOCK: Henry’s right.**

Stunned silence filled the room, mostly radiating from the three members of Scotland Yard, but also subtly from the others.

**JOHN: What?**

**SHERLOCK (his voice shaking): I saw it too.**

**JOHN (shocked): What?**

**SHERLOCK: I saw it too, John.**

**JOHN: Just ... just a minute. (He sits forward.) You saw what?**

**Sherlock finally meets his gaze, but his face is twisted with self-loathing as he forces himself to admit the truth.**

**SHERLOCK: A hound, out there in the Hollow. (He talks through gritted teeth.) A gigantic hound.**

“He’s really losing it…” Sally said, and for once, there was no resentment in her voice. It was sorrow, and…pity? Yes. She pitied Sherlock because his whole world was crashing down upon him. Obviously, he’d solved the case and gotten over this episode – she knew because she’d seen him later – but this was almost too unbearable to watch. He was always the one person she’d never expected the breakdown.

**John almost laughs as Sherlock looks away, trying unsuccessfully to blink back tears. John sits back in his chair again, not quite able to cope with this strange reaction from his friend.**

**JOHN: Um, look, Sherlock, we have to be rational about this, okay? Now you, of all people, can’t just...**

**Sherlock blows out another breath.**

**JOHN: Let’s just stick to what we know, yes? Stick to the facts.**

**Sherlock looks round at him.**

**SHERLOCK (softly): Once you’ve ruled out the impossible, whatever remains – however improbable – must be true.**

**JOHN: What does that mean?**

**Looking away again, Sherlock reaches down and picks up a drink from a nearby table. Looking down at his trembling hand, he sniggers.**

**SHERLOCK: Look at me. I’m afraid, John. Afraid.**

“Afraid…” Molly whispered as she watched Sherlock with tearful eyes. “Oh…poor Sherlock…”

**He takes a drink and then holds up the glass again, his hand still shaking.**

**JOHN: Sherlock?**

**SHERLOCK: Always been able to keep myself distant... (he takes another drink from the glass) ...divorce myself from...feelings. But look, you see...**

**He holds up the glass and glares at his shaking hand.**

**SHERLOCK: ...body’s betraying me. Interesting, yes? Emotions. (He slams the glass down onto the table.) The grit on the lens, the fly in the ointment.**

**JOHN: Yeah, all right, Spock, just...**

“Did you just make a Star Trek reference at a time like this, John?” Molly scolded.

John flinched. “I was hoping to bring him back. Obviously, it didn’t work.”

**Realizing that he is starting to raise his voice, he looks around at the other people in the restaurant behind him and then looks back to Sherlock.**

**JOHN (more softly): ...take it easy.**

**Sherlock is blowing out a few more breaths and still failing to bring himself under control. He glances panic-stricken at John.**

**JOHN: You’ve been pretty wired lately; you know you have. I think you’ve just gone out there and got yourself a bit worked up.**

**SHERLOCK: Worked...up?**

**JOHN: It was dark and scary...**

**SHERLOCK (laughing sarcastically): Me?! There’s nothing wrong with me.**

**He looks away, almost beginning to hyperventilate, then puts his fingertips to his temples, groaning in anguish. John looks at him in concern.**

**JOHN: Sherlock...**

**Sherlock begins blowing out breaths again, his fingers trembling against his skin.**

**JOHN: Sher...**

**SHERLOCK (loudly, furiously): THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH ME!**

**He glares over at John.**

**SHERLOCK: DO YOU UNDERSTAND?**

All eyes were wide, watching Sherlock break down on the screen. No one dared to speak – or even to take a breath.

**He looks around at the other patrons, all of whom are now staring at him. He looks away again, then looks at John.**

**SHERLOCK: You want me to prove it, yes?**

**He pulls in a deep breath, trying to get himself under control.**

**SHERLOCK: We’re looking for a dog, yes, a great big dog, that’s your brilliant theory. Cherchez le chien. Good, excellent, yes, where shall we start?**

“He’s doing that thing again, isn’t he?” Sally asked.

Lestrade frowned. “Yes, he is. He’s getting himself worked up.”

**The patrons have gone back to their eating. Sherlock looks over his shoulder and points towards a man and woman sitting opposite each other at a table in the corner of the restaurant. His voice becomes savage and relentless as he goes into deduction mode.**

**SHERLOCK: How about them? The sentimental widow and her son, the unemployed fisherman. The answer’s yes.**

**JOHN: Yes?**

**SHERLOCK: She’s got a West Highland terrier called Whisky. Not exactly what we’re looking for.**

**JOHN (quietly): Oh, Sherlock, for God’s sake...**

“That won’t stop him, John. You should know that,” Lestrade said.

John scoffed, crossing his arms. His jacket folded in on itself. “Yeah, well there wasn’t much else I could do right then, could I: You know what he’s like.”

**Sherlock looks briefly across at the man and his jumper with reindeer and holly leaves knitted into it before turning away again.**

**SHERLOCK (quick fire): Look at the jumper he’s wearing. Hardly worn. Clearly, he’s uncomfortable in it. Maybe it’s because of the material; more likely the hideous pattern, suggesting it’s a present, probably Christmas. So he wants into his mother’s good books. Why? Almost certainly money.**

**He takes another quick glance at the man.**

**SHERLOCK (quick fire): He’s treating her to a meal but his own portion is small. That means he wants to impress her, but he’s trying to economize on his own food.**

**JOHN: Well, maybe he’s just not hungry.**

**SHERLOCK (quick fire, becoming almost frenetic): No, small plate. Starter. He’s practically licked it clean. She’s nearly finished her pavlova. If she’d treated him, he’d have had as much as he wanted. He’s hungry all right, and not well-off – you can tell that by the state of his cuffs and shoes.**

**He asks the question he’s expecting to come from John at any moment.**

**SHERLOCK: “How d’you know she’s his mother?”**

**John, who until now has been looking at his colleague with concern as Sherlock’s voice – while lowered – has become increasingly intense, smiles briefly.**

**SHERLOCK (quick fire): Who else would give him a Christmas present like that? Well, it could be an aunt or an elder sister, but mother’s more likely. Now, he was a fisherman. Scarring pattern on his hands, very distinctive – fishhooks. They’re all quite old now, which suggests he’s been unemployed for some time. Not much industry in this part of the world, so he’s turned to his widowed mother for help. “Widowed?” Yes, obviously. She’s got a man’s wedding ring on a chain 'round her neck – clearly her late husband’s and too big for her finger. She’s well-dressed but her jewellery’s cheap. She could afford better, but she’s kept it – it’s sentimental. Now, the dog... (he looks at the thick wiry hairs on the lower part of the woman’s black trousers) ...tiny little hairs all over the leg from where it gets a little bit too friendly, but no hairs above the knees, suggesting it’s a small dog, probably a terrier. In fact, it is – a West Highland terrier called Whisky. “How the hell do you know that, Sherlock?” ’Cause she was on the same train as us and I heard her calling its name and that’s not cheating, that’s listening. I use my senses, John, unlike some people, so you see, I am fine, in fact, I’ve never been better, so just Leave. Me. Alone.**

**He glares at John, who stares back at him in shock.**

“This whole case is really doing a number on him, isn’t it?” Molly asked. “He’s doubting himself.”

Sally scoffed. “He just went on a rant proving to John that he was fine. How is that _doubting himself_?”

Molly frowned at her. “You don’t understand. He wasn’t proving anything to John. He was trying to prove it to himself. He’s doubting his ability to be rational and so he’s trying to overcompensate but shoving all of his emotions down.” Fresh tears fell down her cheeks. “It’s so unhealthy.”

Meanwhile, unnoticed, Mycroft frowned in a way that almost betrayed emotion as he remembered where that habit of his brother’s had stemmed from.

Not even Lestrade saw it because he wasn’t looking.

**JOHN: Yeah.**

**He clears his throat.**

**JOHN: Okay. Okay.**

**Distressed by his colleague’s venom, he tries to settle back in his chair while Sherlock stares towards the fire, breathing heavily.**

**JOHN: And why would you listen to me? I’m just your friend.**

**SHERLOCK (savagely): I don’t have friends.**

“Don’t listen to him, John. He’s just pushing you away because that’s all he knows how to do,” Molly said.

Mycroft wholly agreed with her statement. “t’s all he knows how to do…” he said. It was a ghost of a sentence, almost too quiet for him to hear.

**JOHN (softly): Naah. Wonder why?**

**He gets up and walks away.**

*****

**Shortly afterwards, John storms out of the pub and stops just outside, breathing heavily. He gazes up into the sky and blows out a breath, pulling himself together, then looks into the distance and his eyes narrow. The flashing light is back on the hillside. As it continues to flash, he starts to walk in its direction.**

“What _is_ that?” Sally asked as the screen faded to black yet again. “And why does it keep stopping every time we need to know more?”

Words appeared. _“You’ll find out what the lights are soon. And it’s called dramatic effect. It’s not exciting without cliff hangers.”_

Sally crossed her arms and just grumbled. “There are no cliff hangers in real life, and it’s plenty exciting.”

_“Not true. What would you call being stuck on the side of a vertical shelf of solid rock?”_

John chuckled, despite the lameness of the joke. “A cliff hanger,” he agreed.

_“Exactly. John gets it.”_

John blushed.

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	38. 2x2 Part 5 The Hounds of Baskerville

_“Okay,”_ the screen now read, _“I’m not too cruel, so I’ll let it continue for you now.”_

**HENRY’S HOUSE. Henry is asleep on the sofa at the edge of the kitchen. He has a duvet over him and a pillow under his head, presumably brought in by John after giving him a sleeping pill. Now he wakes, sits up and rubs his hands over his face, sighing. He stands up and walks over to the floor-to-ceiling glass doors and looks out into the dark garden. Still half asleep, he has a sudden mental flash of the word “Liberty” stitched into fabric, and then the following “In” word. Recoiling from the memory, he buries his face in his hands and sighs in anguish.**

Molly swallows audibly, but otherwise, the room is silent, watching with bated breath.

*****

**MOORS. Using his torch to illuminate the way, John is walking towards the flashing light on the hillside. As he reaches the top of the hill, he can hear a rhythmic squeaking noise, and then as he shines his light around he realizes that there are several cars parked up there. The drivers sitting in each car flinch and hold up their hands to shield their faces from the beam from John’s torch, but they are also trying to avoid being identified and John now realizes why when he turns his beam onto a car which has slightly steamed-up windows and which is rocking from side to side. Its headlights are intermittently flashing on and off. A woman’s voice comes from inside the car.**

**WOMAN’s VOICE: Oh! Mr. Selden! You’ve done it again!**

**MAN’s VOICE: Oh, I keep catching it with my belt.**

**As the inhabitants of the car groan, John lowers his torch.**

**JOHN: Oh, God.**

**He hesitates and squints at the car, half-raising his torch again as if almost tempted to take another look, but then it fully hits him that the Morse messages he wrote down were nothing more than the random flashings of a car’s headlights during the sexual goings-on of a dogging site. He turns and heads back towards the pub.**

“Sorry that your lead led to nothing, John dear.” Mrs. Hudson placed a hand on his shoulder.

He shrugged. “I thought I had somethin’ at least.”

**JOHN: Sh...**

**As he walks away from the hillside his phone trills a text alert. He gets out the phone and looks at the message:**

*****

**Henry’s therapist currently in Cross Keys Pub**

**S**

*****

**John writes a brief reply in capital letters, speaking it aloud as he types.**

*****

**JOHN: So?**

*****

**The reply comes almost instantly:**

*****

**Interview her?**

*****

**John answers:**

*****

**WHY SHOULD I?**

*****

**After a moment he gets another alert:**

*****

**Downloading image ...**

*****

**Shortly afterwards the image arrives, and he opens it. It’s a covertly taken photograph of Louise Mortimer standing at the bar. She’s pretty, and around John’s age. He looks at the photo for a moment and then walks on.**

**JOHN: Ooh, you’re a bad man.**

John’s face went completely and utterly red as everyone in the room howled with laughter.

“Sherlock may not be so keen on understanding emotions, John, but he sure understands _yours_!” Lestrade managed to shout between his chuckles.

**It’s not clear, however, whether he’s talking to himself or to Sherlock.**

**HENRY’S HOUSE. Henry has sat back down on the sofa and has wrapped the duvet around himself. The television is on nearby, but he is dozing and not paying attention to it. He wakes a little and looks out in the dark garden again, his eyes tired and heavy, then he turns to look at the TV. An old black and white film is showing several dogs running around somewhere dark and spooky looking. Henry quickly changes the channel to a less threatening film that looks as if it’s set in a rural village during the 1940s.**

**Suddenly the security lights outside the house come on.**

“What was that?” Anderson asked.

“Motion detector,” Sally replied, “most likely.”

**Henry looks anxiously into the garden but can see nothing moving in the bright lights. A few seconds later the lights fade out again. Henry turns his head away and instantly – unseen by him – something moves quickly across the garden near the back fence. Henry changes the TV channel again and picks the worst possible choice as a wolf snarls straight into the camera while a woman screams in terror offscreen. Recoiling in annoyed frustration, Henry turns off the TV. Instantly the security lights come on again.**

“Wait. Wasn’t that water on just a second ago?” Anderson asked.

“Yes, it was. Somebody was probably out there.”

**There still appears to be nothing out there but Henry gets up and walks closer to the glass doors. Just as the lights begin to fade again, a huge shape flicks across the garden at the far end. It moves so fast that it’s impossible to see what it is, except that it appears to be fairly low to the ground. Henry recoils in horror and looks across to a small cabinet on the other side of the room. He hesitates, almost afraid to move, but then runs across and scrabbles in the cabinet before pulling out an old-looking pistol. Panting in terror, he turns and looks out into the dark garden again and then, in a move that has every viewer yelling at the screen, “Never go nearer to the danger, you idiot!” he walks slowly towards the glass doors. Just as he has almost got his nose pressed to the glass the lights blaze again and a massive shape, most definitely looking like the head of a huge dog, slams against the glass on the other side and then immediately vanishes again.**

Anderson screamed. “What was that?”

**Screaming and wailing in panic, Henry stumbles back and aims his pistol at the glass. The lights fade out again. Henry sobs and a couple of seconds later the lights flash on yet again. His eyes rake over the garden but there’s nothing to be seen. The lights fade one more time and by now Henry has sunk to the floor, his hands over his face while he sobs in absolute terror.**

Anderson turned to John as if expecting him to hold all of the answers. “What was that all about?”

John scowled. “I don’t know _everything_ about these cases just because we solved them. Things happened that I didn’t know about – _this_ being one of them.”

*****

**CROSS KEYS INN. John is sitting at a table in the pub with Louise Mortimer. They are chatting and laughing.**

**MORTIMER (giggling): That’s so mean!**

Lestrade elbowed his friend. “That doesn’t look like an interview, doctor,” he teased.

**John picks up a half-empty wine bottle from the table.**

**JOHN: Um, more wine, Doctor?**

**MORTIMER: Are you trying to get me drunk, Doctor?**

**JOHN: The thought never occurred! (He refills her glass.)**

**MORTIMER: Because a while ago I thought you were chatting me up.**

**JOHN (refilling his own glass): Ooh! Where did I go wrong?**

**MORTIMER: When you started asking me about my patients.**

**JOHN: Well, you see, I am one of Henry’s oldest friends.**

**MORTIMER: Yeah, and he’s one of my patients, so I can’t talk about him.**

Lestrade then scowled. “You should know that, John!”

**JOHN: Mm.**

**MORTIMER: Although he has told me about all his oldest friends. (She looks at him thoughtfully.) Which one are you?**

**JOHN (hopefully): A new one?**

“Caught in the lie!” Sally whispered.

**She scoffs.**

**JOHN: Okay, what about his father? He wasn’t one of your patients. Wasn’t he some sort of conspiracy nutter... (he quickly corrects himself) ...theorist?**

**MORTIMER: You’re only a nutter if you’re wrong.**

**JOHN: Mm. And was he wrong?**

**MORTIMER: I should think so!**

**JOHN: But he got fixated on Baskerville, didn’t he? With what they were doing in there ... Couldn’t Henry have gone the same way, started imagining a hound?**

**Louise looks at him pointedly.**

**MORTIMER: Why d’you think I’m going to talk about this?!**

**JOHN (laughing in acknowledgement of her seeing through him): Because I think you’re worried about him, and because I’m a doctor too ...**

**His face becomes more serious.**

**JOHN: ... and because I have another friend who might be having the same problem.**

“You really think Sherlock is imagining the hound to cover up something else?” Lestrade asked. He wasn’t sure that could’ve been possible, but perhaps he thought wrong because as he turned to John, his eyes caught Mycroft’s expression. It was dour – like always, but this time, more dour than usual, and it held something…deeper. Lestrade’s mind shot back to earlier when they’d discussed false memories. Now, Lestrade was sure that they were talking about Sherlock. Slowly, the pieces were coming together, but he still couldn’t see the end result. What was it about Sherlock that made Mycroft react that way? _Did_ he have the same problem as Henry?

He was pulled from his inner conflicting thoughts as John replied, “Sort of. He was acting strange, after all. I was worried about him.”

**They lock eyes for a long moment and finally Louise sighs. She has apparently decided to tell him more than she really ought to...but before she can even begin a hand claps down onto John’s shoulder from behind him. John looks over and sees Bob Frankland grinning down at him.**

**FRANKLAND: Doctor Watson!**

John growled under his breath, finally realizing what Frankland had been up to. He should have seen the signs!

**JOHN (unhappily): Hi.**

**FRANKLAND (to Louise): Hello. (To John) How’s the investigation going?**

**JOHN (doing everything but roll his eyes in dismay): Hello.**

**MORTIMER: What? Investigation?**

**FRANKLAND: Didn’t you know? Don’t you read the blog? Sherlock Holmes!**

**JOHN: It’s...**

**MORTIMER: Sherlock who?**

**JOHN: No, it’s ...**

**FRANKLAND: Private detective! (He claps John on the shoulder again.) This is his PA!**

“Not a PA…” John muttered.

**JOHN: PA?**

**FRANKLAND: Well, live-in PA.**

**JOHN: Perfect!**

**MORTIMER: Live-in…**

“See, John? Even _she_ thinks you’re with Sherlock!” Lestrade pointed out, because _what else_ could she have thought after that?

**JOHN: This is Doctor Mortimer, Henry’s therapist.**

**FRANKLAND: Oh, hello. (He shakes hands with her.) Bob Frankland.**

**He turns back to John. As he speaks, Louise is already twisting on her chair to take her coat off the back.**

**FRANKLAND: Listen, tell Sherlock I’ve been keeping an eye on Stapleton. Any time he wants a little chat ... right?**

**JOHN: Mm.**

**Frankland laughs heartily, claps John on the shoulder yet again and then walks away. John looks at Louise and realizes that she has got her coat in her hands.**

**JOHN: Oh.**

**MORTIMER: Why don’t you buy him a drink? I think he likes you.**

John growled again. It was sabotage! He knew it now.

**She stands up and leaves. John sighs.**

*****

**DAY TIME. THE MOORS. Sherlock is back on the stony outcrop again, staring towards Baskerville. His eyes flick between the complex and Dewer’s Hollow, then he turns and looks back towards Grimpen Village.**

*****

**HENRY’S HOUSE. Henry goes to the door at the sound of a knock. As soon as he opens it Sherlock surges though, being loudly cheerful.**

**SHERLOCK: Morning!**

“What’s going on? Is he going off on another…” Sally struggled to find the word.

“Has he got a theory?” Anderson cut in.

John shook his head. “Because I’m the leading expert on all things Sherlock?” he muttered. Mostly, he was just grumpy that he hadn’t seen the clues before. Then again, seeing the world from a different perspective tended to show things that you would never consider. (It was kind of interesting watching a mystery that you already knew how it ended.)

“Of course, you are! At least better than most of us!” Lestrade assured him.

John scoffed. “I know exactly what he’s doing; doesn’t mean I’ll tell you lot.”

**He seems about to head for the kitchen but suddenly turns around and clasps Henry by the shoulders.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, how are you feeling?**

**Henry looks terrible. Sherlock ducks his head down to get a better look into his face.**

**HENRY (exhaustedly): I’m ... I didn’t sleep very well.**

**SHERLOCK: That’s a shame. Shall I make you some coffee? (He looks up at the ceiling above the door and points.) Oh look, you’ve got damp!**

“Why do I feel like _he_ was the one responsible for the scare Henry had last night?” Sally said slowly.

“Because he probably was. Probably testing a theory,” Anderson commented thoughtfully.

**He grins falsely at him until Henry turns his head to look at the ceiling, then drops the smile and turns and walks away towards the kitchen. Hurrying over to the cupboards, he starts opening and closing each one rapidly. Finally, he finds the metal jar that he’s looking for and takes it out, rummaging inside it while he elbows the cupboard door closed. Tucking something from the jar inside his coat, he goes over to the sink and picks up a couple of mugs, taking them over to the central island just as Henry tiredly wanders in.**

**HENRY: Listen ... last night.**

**Sherlock gives him that horrifying attempt at a friendly smile while he takes the top off the coffee tin.**

**HENRY: Why did you say you hadn’t seen anything? I mean, I only saw the hound for a minute, but...**

**Sherlock has been dumping spoonfuls of coffee into the mugs without even looking, his eyes locked on Henry’s, and now he slams the coffee tin down onto the surface and steps closer to him, his eyes back to their normal intensity.**

**SHERLOCK: Hound.**

**HENRY: What?**

“What?” echoed both Sally and Anderson. Sherlock was going off on a tangent again, so it seemed, and they couldn’t follow his eccentric mind. What was he going on about this time?

**SHERLOCK: Why do you call it a hound? Why a hound?**

**HENRY: Why – what do you mean?**

**SHERLOCK: It’s odd, isn’t it? Strange choice of words – archaic. It’s why I took the case. “Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound.” Why say “hound”?**

Lestrade shrugged. “I thought as much,” he admitted. “Though it is a bit curious.”

**HENRY: I don’t know! I ...**

**SHERLOCK: Actually, I’d better skip the coffee.**

**He flares out of the kitchen. Henry sighs wearily.**

*****

**Later, Sherlock is walking back through the village but stops when he sees John in the church graveyard, sitting on the steps of a war memorial and looking through the notes in his notebook.**

John sees the graveyard and groans almost mournfully because it reminded him so much of the place that he and Mrs. Hudson had been taken from before this whole thing had first started. They were almost done watching all the cases go by, and he couldn’t help but wonder if, when they watched Sherlock’s…death…would it all go back to normal? Would they just be magically transported back to the graveyard, staring at Sherlock’s grave? He cast the thought out of his mind; he’d find out when they got there.

**Sherlock goes through the gate and walks along the path towards John, who looks up as he hears him approach. John’s expression becomes uncomfortable as he tucks his notebook into his pocket. Grimacing briefly, Sherlock stops in front of him, also looking awkward.**

**SHERLOCK: Did you, er, get anywhere with that Morse code?**

**JOHN (stepping down): No.**

**He starts to walk away.**

**SHERLOCK: U, M, Q, R, A, wasn’t it?**

**John keeps walking and Sherlock follows along behind him. He voices the initials as a word.**

**SHERLOCK: UMQRA.**

**JOHN: Nothing.**

**In Sherlock’s mind, he puts full stops in between the letters but still voices it as a word.**

**SHERLOCK: U.M.Q...**

**JOHN: Look, forget it. It’s ... I thought I was on to something. I wasn’t.**

**SHERLOCK: Sure?**

**JOHN: Yeah.**

**SHERLOCK: How about Louise Mortimer? Did you get anywhere with her?**

**JOHN: No.**

**SHERLOCK: Too bad. Did you get any information?**

More laughter echoed through the room.

“Like I said, I think Sherlock’s terrible at dealing with emotions – others and his own – but he’d got you nailed, John!” Lestrade teased the doctor.

**John smiles briefly and glances over his shoulder but still keeps walking.**

**JOHN: You being funny now?**

**SHERLOCK: Thought it might break the ice a bit.**

**JOHN: Funny doesn’t suit you. I’d stick to ice.**

**Sherlock looks at John’s retreating back, his face full of pain.**

John winced. He hadn’t seen that before – obviously – and now he was doubting the ice in his friend’s heart. Had he really been getting through the detective’s hard exterior?

**SHERLOCK: John...**

**JOHN: It’s fine.**

**SHERLOCK: No, wait. What happened last night... Something happened to me; something I’ve not really experienced before...**

**JOHN: Yes, you said: fear. Sherlock Holmes got scared. You said.**

**Sherlock catches him up, takes hold of his arm and pulls him round to face him.**

**SHERLOCK: No-no-no, it was more than that, John. It was doubt. I felt doubt. I’ve always been able to trust my senses, the evidence of my own eyes, until last night.**

“Well, he seems to have gotten over _that_ mishap,” Sally said.

**JOHN: You can’t actually believe that you saw some kind of monster.**

**SHERLOCK: No, I can’t believe that. (He grins bitterly for a moment.) But I did see it, so the question is: how? How?**

“Because you were _expecting_ to see it,” Sally muttered.

John didn’t say anything – he just stared at her, a bit shocked that she’d, indirectly, figured it out.

**JOHN: Yes. Yeah, right, good. So you’ve got something to go on, then? Good luck with that.**

**He turns and starts to walk away again. Sherlock turns and calls after him.**

**SHERLOCK: Listen, what I said before, John. I meant it.**

**John stops and turns back to face him.**

**SHERLOCK: I don’t have friends.**

**He bites his lip briefly.**

**SHERLOCK: I’ve just got one.**

“Awww!” Molly couldn’t stop herself. “I never Sherlock could say something so sweet!”

John rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Sweet. He sure got me.”

“What, so that was just a line?” Anderson asked.

John shrugged. “He meant it, of course. I guess… But it was mostly just to get me to cooperate with his scheme without knowing it.”

**John looks away as he takes in that statement for a moment, then he nods briefly and glances back at Sherlock.**

**JOHN: Right.**

**He turns and walks away again. Sherlock looks down, then instantly raises his head again and his eyes begin to flicker in realization of something.**

**SHERLOCK: John? John!**

**He starts to chase after him.**

**SHERLOCK: You are amazing! You are fantastic!**

**JOHN (not stopping): Yes, all right! You don’t have to overdo it.**

**SHERLOCK (catching up and overtaking him, then walking backwards in front of him): You’ve never been the most luminous of people, but as a conductor of light you are unbeatable.**

**JOHN: Cheers. ...What?**

**Sherlock turns around and walks beside him, taking out his own notebook and starting to write in it.**

**SHERLOCK: Some people who aren’t geniuses have an amazing ability to stimulate it in others.**

“Is that why he kept you around so long?” Lestrade teased.

“Shut up, will you. At least _I_ do something,” John shot back.

**JOHN: Hang on – you were saying “Sorry” a minute ago. Don’t spoil it. Go on: what have I done that’s so bloody stimulating?**

**Sherlock stops just outside the pub door and turns back to John, showing what he has just written in his notebook:**

*****

**HOUND**

*****

**JOHN: Yeah?**

**SHERLOCK (pulling the notebook back and writing in it again): But what if it’s not a word? What if it is individual letters?**

**He shows him the page of the notebook again, which now reads:**

*****

**H.O.U.N.D.**

*****

**JOHN: You think it’s an acronym?**

“What in the world did you say that made him think of _that_?” Sally asked.

John shrugged. “Umqra? Maybe it finally caught up with him?”

“That’s a little longer than usual, don’t you think?” Anderson asked.

Molly frowned at the forensic scientist. “You’re complaining that he’s _too slow_ now? Come on! What’s wrong with you?”

**SHERLOCK (putting his notebook away): Absolutely no idea but ...**

**He turns towards the pub door and trails off when he sees a familiar figure standing inside at the bar. Wearing grey trousers and a grey shirt with a light jacket over the top, heavily suntanned and with sunglasses on, Detective Inspector Lestrade has his hands in his trouser pockets. Sherlock storms into the pub.**

**SHERLOCK: What the hell are you doing here?**

**LESTRADE: Well, nice to see you too! I’m on holiday, would you believe?**

“That’s the worst lie I’ve ever heard,” Sally said flatly.

**SHERLOCK: No, I wouldn’t.**

**LESTRADE (taking off his sunglasses as John walks over to the bar): Hullo, John.**

**JOHN: Greg!**

As he saw Sherlock’s confused stare, John laughed. He hadn’t caught it before and now he knew exactly has caused the reaction.

**LESTRADE: I heard you were in the area. What are you up to? You after this Hound of Hell like on the telly?**

**SHERLOCK: I’m waiting for an explanation, Inspector. Why are you here?**

**LESTRADE: I’ve told you: I’m on holiday.**

**SHERLOCK: You’re brown as a nut. You’re clearly just back from your ‘holidays.’**

“He’s got you there, Greg,” John said. “Can’t really get a tan up in Grimpen Village.”

**LESTRADE (trying to look nonchalant): Yeah, well I fancied another one.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, this is Mycroft, isn’t it?**

**LESTRADE: No, look ...**

**SHERLOCK: Of course it is! One mention of Baskerville and he sends down my handler to...to spy on me incognito. Is that why you’re calling yourself Greg?**

**JOHN: That’s his name.**

**SHERLOCK (frowning): Is it?**

Sally and Anderson both burst into tears, laughing.

**LESTRADE: Yes – if you’d ever bothered to find out. Look, I’m not your handler... (he turns away to pick up his pint from the bar) ...and I don’t just do what your brother tells me.**

**JOHN: Actually, you could be just the man we want.**

**SHERLOCK: Why?**

**JOHN: Well, I’ve not been idle, Sherlock. (He rummages in his trouser pocket.) I think I might have found something.**

**He shows Sherlock the sales invoice from Undershaw Meat Supplies which he stole off the bar while he was checking in.**

**JOHN: Here. Didn’t know if it was relevant; starting to look like it might be. That is an awful lot of meat for a vegetarian restaurant.**

“That’s why you don’t leave all your receipts at the till when there are detectives in town,” Anderson said sagely.

**SHERLOCK: Excellent.**

**JOHN (looking at Greg): Nice scary inspector from Scotland Yard who can put in a few calls might come in very handy.**

**Sherlock and Greg exchange a look, and John slaps his hand down on the bell on top of the bar.**

**JOHN: Shop!**

*****

**Later, in the small Snug next to the bar, Greg is sitting at a table looking through paperwork – presumably previous invoices from Undershaw – while Gary the manager and Billy the chef sit at the other side of the table looking at him anxiously. Nearby, Sherlock has poured a cup of coffee from a filter machine and is stirring it. He ostentatiously taps the drips off the spoon into the cup and then picks up the cup and its saucer and carries them over to John, offering them to him.**

**JOHN: What’s this?**

**SHERLOCK: Coffee. I made coffee.**

**JOHN: You never make coffee.**

**SHERLOCK: I just did. Don’t you want it?**

**JOHN: You don’t have to keep apologizing.**

**Sherlock looks away with a hurt expression on his face. John relents and takes the cup and saucer.**

John swore under his breath. “Why did I ever fall for that act?” he scolded himself quietly.

If the others were confused by that statement, they didn’t ask; they know they would get the same answer as always: keep watching.

**JOHN: Thanks.**

**Sherlock smiles happily.**

“That looks so smug…” Sally said suspiciously.

**John lifts the cup to his mouth, takes a mouthful and grimaces.**

**JOHN: Mm. I don’t take sugar...**

**The hurt expression comes back onto Sherlock’s face as he looks away again. He’s like a puppy whose owner has just told him off for chewing his slippers. John looks at his face and feels that he has no choice but to take a longer drink from the cup.**

**LESTRADE: These records go back nearly two months.**

**Grimacing at the taste, John puts the cup back into the saucer and looks at Sherlock.**

**JOHN: That’s nice. That’s good.**

**He turns away to put the drink down on a nearby mantelpiece while Greg continues interrogating Gary and Billy.**

**LESTRADE: Is that when you had the idea after the TV show went out?**

**BILLY: It’s me. It was me. (He turns to his partner.) I’m sorry, Gary – I couldn’t help it. I had a bacon sandwich at Cal’s wedding and one thing just led to another...**

“There’s another lie that is really hard to believe. Does no one here know how to bloody lie?” Sally asked.

“Besides Sherlock, you mean? He got John pretty good, it seems,” Anderson added.

**Sherlock grins behind him. Greg is equally disbelieving.**

**LESTRADE: Nice try.**

**GARY: Look, we were just trying to give things a bit of a boost, you know? A great big dog run wild up on the moor – it was heaven-sent. It was like us having our own Loch Ness Monster.**

**LESTRADE: Where do you keep it?**

**GARY: There’s an old mineshaft. It’s not too far. It was all right there.**

**SHERLOCK: “Was”?**

**GARY (sighing): We couldn’t control the bloody thing. It was vicious. (He sighs again.) And then, a month ago, Billy took him to the vet and, er...you know.**

**JOHN: It’s dead?**

**GARY: Put down.**

“A month ago? So it couldn’t have been that dog that they saw in the Hollow!” Anderson declared.

**BILLY: Yeah. No choice. So it’s over.**

**GARY: It was just a joke, you know?**

**LESTRADE: Yeah, hilarious!**

**He stands up and looks down at them angrily.**

**LESTRADE: You’ve nearly driven a man out of his mind.**

**He walks out of the room. John follows him. Sherlock watches him go, then peers into John’s coffee cup before following. John follows Greg across the bar and out of the pub.**

“Why is he so obsessed over your coffee?” Anderson asked. “Does he really care _that_ much that you drank it.”

Sally shook her head. “They had coffee before, so he knows John doesn’t take sugar. He did that on purpose.”

“Did he put something else in the coffee and tried to cover it with the sugar?” Anderson asked.

John silently shook his head. They were smart – that was how they got the job, but they were still idiots compared to Sherlock.

**JOHN: You know he’s actually pleased you’re here?**

**Greg throws him a disbelieving look.**

**JOHN: Secretly pleased.**

**LESTRADE: Is he? That’s nice! I suppose he likes having all the same faces back together. Appeals to his ... His...**

**He stops and searches for the right word. John provides an appropriate suggestion.**

**JOHN: ...Asperger’s?**

Mycroft scowled. “Please refrain from joking about that,” he said, his tone cold and flat.

**Sherlock comes out of the pub and glowers at John, having heard the last word.**

“What’s with him?” Sally asked. She suddenly remembered, way back when this first started, that Greg and John had been talking about Sherlock’s “Asperger’s” before. Then again, it could’ve just been a theory, because Mycroft – the only person who _would_ know – hadn’t confirmed nor denied that Sherlock had the condition. He’d just said a “condition”, not which one.

**LESTRADE: So, you believe him about having the dog destroyed?**

**SHERLOCK: No reason not to.**

**LESTRADE: Well, hopefully, there’s no harm done. Not quite sure what I’d charge him with anyway. I’ll have a word with the local Force.**

**He nods to the boys.**

**LESTRADE: Right, that’s that, then. Catch you later. (He smiles.) I’m enjoying this! It’s nice to get London out of your lungs!**

“Oh no! Lestrade’s joined them in _liking_ the bloody cases!” Sally muttered, alarmed.

Anderson frowned. “Come on! You can’t tell me you’ve never _enjoyed_ solving a mystery!”

Sally just turned her alarmed gaze on him and scowled. “Not you too!”

**John watches him walk away, then turns to Sherlock.**

**JOHN: So that was their dog that people saw out on the moor?**

**SHERLOCK: Looks like it.**

**JOHN: But that wasn’t what you saw. That wasn’t just an ordinary dog.**

**SHERLOCK: No. (His gaze becomes distant.) It was immense, had burning red eyes and it was glowing, John. Its whole body was glowing.**

“No one else said the dog was glowing. You would think that _that_ would be something people talked about,” Anderson pointed out.

John sighed. “Yeah…”

**He shudders, shaking off the memory, then turns and walks towards the car park.**

**SHERLOCK: I’ve got a theory, but I need to get back into Baskerville to test it.**

**JOHN: How? Can’t pull off the ID trick again.**

**SHERLOCK: Might not have to.**

**He has just taken out his phone and hit a speeddial and now he lifts the phone to his ear.**

**SHERLOCK (insincerely into phone): Hello, brother dear. How are you?**

Sally laughed. “That sounds _so_ fake, it hurts!” she said.

Mycroft just sighed. “What I wouldn’t do for his hair-brained schemes…” he muttered, so quietly that no one else could hear.

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	39. 2x2 Part 6 The Hounds of Baskerville

Before the next section started, the room was quiet, mostly because of John’s grumbly attitude. He sat with arms crossed and head down, growling and muttering under his breath about “Sherlock and his “horrible experiments”. Of course, the others had noticed his sour mood throughout the entirety of the previous segment of the case, but none had dared question him about it. Now that there was an actual break, Sally took the chance.

“John, what are you so bloody mad about?”

“What do you think? That bloody lout! He’s just…just…” John trailed off. “I can’t believe I actually miss some of his stupid experiments,” he admitted. _‘Even when he did them on me. I don’t appreciate them, but I miss them.’_

“Experiments other than the eyeballs in the microwave and the severed head in the fridge?” she challenged.

“While I admit we need a separate fridge for food – even though he’d probably just stock that one full of body parts too – I just miss having him around. He wasn’t perfect, but…he was a good friend.”

“He was,” Lestrade agreed. “And when we’re done here, I can tell you, without a doubt, Sherlock will not be remembered as a fraud, because he wasn’t,” he declared. Then he grinned. “He was a brilliant man who just wanted to prove to everyone else how smart he was.”

On that note, the screen began to brighten.

**BASKERVILLE. After many generic scenes of some of the scientific experiments being conducted at the facility, Doctor Stapleton can be seen handling a fluffy white bunny inside a large clear plastic dome.**

“Is that Bluebell?” Anderson whispered to Donovan.

She shrugged. “Pro’lly.”

**At the entrance gates, the Land Rover approaches and stops. An armed security man goes over to Sherlock’s side while the dog handler and sniffer dog also approach.**

**SECURITY GUARD: Afternoon, sir. If you could turn the engine off.**

**Sherlock hands over his ID pass and switches the car off.**

**SECURITY GUARD: Thank you.**

**As he goes over to the gate room to swipe the card and other soldiers check the vehicle over from the outside, Sherlock speaks quietly to John.**

**SHERLOCK: I need to see Major Barrymore as soon as we get inside.**

**JOHN: Right.**

**SHERLOCK: Which means you’ll have to start the search for the hound.**

**JOHN: Okay.**

**SHERLOCK: In the labs; Stapleton’s first.**

**The guard brings back the ID card and hands it over.**

**SHERLOCK (quietly to John): Could be dangerous.**

Laughter rumbled throughout the small room at the throwback to their first-ever case together. John just looked at the carpet and sighed.

**John smiles momentarily. The gate slides open and Sherlock starts the car and drives onto the base.**

*****

**LATER. MAJOR BARRYMORE’S OFFICE. The major sits at his desk talking snarkily to Sherlock who is standing in the doorway.**

**BARRYMORE: Oh, you know I’d love to. I’d love to give you unlimited access to this place. Why not?!**

**SHERLOCK: It’s a simple enough request, Major.**

**BARRYMORE: I’ve never heard of anything so bizarre.**

**SHERLOCK: You’re to give me twenty-four hours. It’s what I’ve ... (he pauses momentarily) ... negotiated.**

“You mean what you whittled out of your brother,” Lestrade corrected, even though he was fully aware that the Sherlock on the screen couldn’t possibly be aware of what Lestrade was saying.

**BARRYMORE (sternly): Not a second more. I may have to comply with this order but I don’t have to like it.**

**He swings around to his computer on the desk behind him as Sherlock starts to leave the office.**

**BARRYMORE: I don’t know what you expect to find here anyway.**

**SHERLOCK (turning back): Perhaps the truth.**

**BARRYMORE (looking around again): About what? Oh, I see. The big coat should have told me.**

**Sherlock frowns.**

**BARRYMORE: You’re one of the conspiracy lot, aren’t you?**

**He grins as Sherlock rolls his eyes.**

**BARRYMORE: Well, then, go ahead, seek them out: the monsters, the death rays, the aliens.**

**SHERLOCK (nonchalantly): Have you got any of those?**

“Seriously?” Sally asked.

“I think he’s joking,” Anderson said to her.

“I _know_ he’s joking!” she snapped.

**Now it’s Barrymore’s turn to roll his eyes.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, just wondering.**

**BARRYMORE (leaning forward secretively): A couple. Crash-landed here in the sixties. (Sarcastically) We call them Abbott and Costello.**

**He straightens up and turns back to his computer.**

**BARRYMORE: Good luck, Mr. Holmes.**

“Quick question,” Anderson said, “Does Barrymore now know who Sherlock really is, or does he still think he’s you?” He pointedly cast his eyes – and a finger – at Mycroft.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you that it’s rude to point fingers?” Mycroft replied sharply. He yawned carelessly and gave no further answer.

*****

**HENRY’S HOUSE. Henry is in the sitting room holding a framed photograph of himself when he was about five years old standing in between his parents. As he sits clutching the photograph, he gazes into the distance with a lost expression on his face but gradually exhaustion begins to claim him, and his eyelids start to droop. Eventually, his eyes close completely – and immediately the red glowing eyes of the hound flash in his mind. Gasping in horror, Henry opens his eyes again and then wails in anguish.**

**HENRY: Oh, God!**

**Sobbing, he clutches at his head and then buries his face in his hands and weeps in despair.**

“How much more do you think he can take?” Molly asked, staring despairingly at the weeping man on the screen.

“Not much more,” John said.

*****

**BASKERVILLE. The lift doors open into the first lab that the boys previously visited but this time only John comes out of the elevator.**

“It’s so empty in there!” Anderson exclaimed. “That just makes it more eery.” He shuddered.

**Walking forward he sees that there are only two scientists in the room, and they are now leaving through a side door. One of them turns off the main overhead lights as he goes, which leaves the room lit far more dimly by a few arc lights on stands which are dotted around, and by the screens of some computers. John looks around a little anxiously when he realizes how spooky and quiet it is, then he walks towards a door at the far end of the lab, the door which Doctor Frankland came out of on the first occasion that they met him. He has a security pass in his pocket, and he takes it out and swipes it through the reader, then pulls the door open and goes inside, having apparently ignored the handwritten notice stuck on the outside which reads:**

*****

**KEEP OUT…**

**UNLESS YOU WANT**

**A COLD!**

*****

**He walks through the decontamination zone to the door at the far end and taps a finger on the glass window in the door. When nobody replies he pushes the door open and goes into a room that has a glass-walled section on the left-hand side. There’s a glass-fronted cage inside the sealed section but there doesn’t appear to be anything inside. In front of him is a desk with equipment, folders, a phone and various other things on it, and above the desk are small plastic tubes coming out of the wall and dials which indicate that these tubes dispense various gases. John opens the door of a small cupboard set into the desk but finds nothing of interest and so continues looking around. On the right-hand side of the room are large metal pipes which presumably also carry gases. One of them is leaking slightly.**

“What are you even looking for, John?” Molly asked.

“Anything suspicious,” John replied. He shrugged. “I dunno. Sherlock just told me to investigate. He didn’t tell me what he wanted to know.”

“So you assumed he just trusted you to know what to look for? Come on, John,” Lestrade chided. “He must’ve had a bigger plan in place.”

“I assumed he was just gonna join me when he was done with Barrymore.”

**John peers around a little longer and then comes out of the room and goes back through the decontamination zone and into the lab. Just to his right is a large arc light on a stand. As John turns to his right to close the door behind him, the device lights up and nine bright bulbs shine straight into his eyes. He squinches his eyes shut and turns his head away, grimacing at the pain.**

**JOHN: Oh, no! Jesus! Ow!**

**Opening his eyes a little, he squints and tries to see into the room. All the other lights in the room appear to have come on as well and – with his own vision blanked out by the arc lights – there’s a wall of whiteness all around him. Just then a loud insistent alarm begins to blare into the room. John groans and covers his ears, completely overwhelmed by the bright light, lack of vision and the noise. Grimacing, he starts to make his way across the lab towards the lift, holding his hand up in front of his eyes as the afterimage of the arc lights keeps blanking out his vision.**

“What’s going on?” Mrs. Hudson cried, gripping the arms of her chair so tightly her knuckles turned white. The surround sound of the speakers made the alarms sound like they were blaring all around them.

“It’s just in the video, Mrs. Hudson,” John said, grimacing again at the loud noises.

“I know that,” she berated him. “What’s happening to you?”

“Sherlock. That’s what.”

“What?” Anderson cried. “Oh wait, I know. _Keep watching_.”

**Finally reaching the other end of the lab, he pulls out the ID card and swipes it through the reader. It whines and tells him “ACCESS DENIED”. He stares in disbelief and swipes the card again, but it whines and gives him the same message. Holding one hand to an ear while the alarm continues to blare, he tries once more.**

**JOHN: Come on.**

**The same whine and message are repeated. John glares at it in exasperation – and at that moment all the lights go out and the alarm drones into silence. The room is now under emergency lighting only, which is dark red and barely illuminates the area.**

**JOHN (under his breath): What the f...?**

**He scrabbles in his pocket for his flashlight and switches it on, although its beam isn’t very helpful against the continued after-image of the arc lights which is still affecting his retinas. He calls out.**

**JOHN: Hello?**

**He screws his eyes shut for a moment in a failed attempt to clear the afterimages. As he opens his eyes again and peers through the bright dots, a shadow seems to flicker across the room some distance away. John blinks and looks around the room, the afterimages still frustrating his ability to see anything clearly.**

“What’s with the dramatic music?” Sally asked.

“Probably to make this scene dramatic. Something big is going to happen. Unless this happened in real life, John?” Molly posed to John, though her question was just bordering on sarcasm.

“No, Molly, the music wasn’t playing when I was in that lab, but it might as well have been,” John replied, his tone huddled right up beside Molly’s on the edge of sarcasm.

**He lowers his head into his hand and rubs his eyes for a few seconds, then raises his head again, realizing how ominously quiet it now is in the lab. But that doesn’t last long, because something rattles to his right. He walks forward cautiously, looking a little anxiously at the row of large cages which he now realizes are all covered with sheeting which obscures their contents. The rattle sounds again. John walks slowly to the first of the cages, turning once to check behind him, then grabs hold of the sheeting and pulls it back to show that the first cage is empty. Pulling the sheet back down again, he walks to the next cage as something clinks near the lift doors. He swings around to look and shines his torch in that direction but can see nothing. He turns again and grabs the sheet over the second cage, tossing that back. Again, the cage is empty, and the door is open.**

“The door is open,” Mrs. Hudson noted.

Anderson nodded. “Why is the door open?” His voice was a bit more panicked than Mrs. Hudson’s had been.

**He moves on to the third cage and throws back the sheet. The monkey inside hurls itself towards him, screaming as it grabs at the bars. John drops the sheet and stumbles back several paces, breathing heavily. He walks to the final cage and looks at it, then slowly his gaze is pulled down to the bottom of the bars where the sheeting has been pushed back a little. The door of the cage is slightly ajar and the bottom of it has been bent back by something which must be incredibly strong. As John stares at the bent bars in disbelief, a low savage growl emanates from behind him.**

Anderson inhaled sharply. He was on the edge of his seat. “Oh my God. What was that?”

**John spins around, his eyes going wide as he shines his flashlight around, but he can see nothing. He sees the nearby door to the Cold Lab and walks briskly over to it, taking out his ID card and swiping it. The reader whines its ACCESS DENIED alert.**

**JOHN: No, come on, come on.**

**He swipes the card again. Again, it refuses to open the door. He stares in anguish, then pulls his mobile out of his pocket while shining his light around the room. He hits the speed dial and holds the phone to his ear as it begins to ring out and continues to ring.**

**JOHN (under his breath): No, you... Don’t be ridiculous, pick up.**

**Eventually, he gives up and switches off the phone.**

**JOHN (in a whisper): Oh, damn it!**

**Putting the phone back in his pocket he looks across the room determinedly.**

**JOHN (softly): Right.**

**Trying to shine his torch in all directions at once and making his way cautiously around all the workstations and islands, he hurries as quickly as he can towards the side door through which the scientists left earlier. As he goes, the distinctive sound of claws on floor tiles skitters across the room.**

No one even dares to breathe. John was just shaking his head. Mycroft leaned back, appearing disinterested.

**JOHN (under his breath): Oh sh...**

**Ducking low, he hurries to the door and takes out his card again.**

**JOHN (in a whisper): Okay...**

**As he reaches towards the card reader, the claws trot across the floor to his right, and then something snarls. John turns and stares, breathing heavily, as there are more sounds nearby – claws on the floor tiles, equipment being pushed aside, and then a deep ominous growl. John shoves the card back into his pocket and then claps his hand over his mouth to dampen his own panicked breathing while the growl rumbles on. As the growl finally falls silent, John makes a break for it and races across the room, running towards the cages and pulling open the door of one of the empty ones before scrambling inside, slamming the door shut and bolting it and then reaching through the bars and pulling the sheet down over the cage. Elsewhere in the lab, the whatever-it-is snarls as John retreats from the door and squats down against the side bars, wrapping his hand around his mouth again and trying not to sob as the creature growls again.**

“Smart, John,” Sally mocked. “Get into the cage that the beast got out of. You’ll be safe in there!”

John and the others just scowled at her.

“What? You saying you wouldn’t do that in his situation?” Anderson challenged her. “If not, you’d already be dead.”

Sally just stared at him with an open mouth, shocked that he would say such a thing. They’d argued often, sure, but lately, he’d been taking Holmes and his little lapdog’s side far more. She growled. At least she still knew the truth about the fraud detective.

**Suddenly John’s phone starts to ring. Gasping, he scrabbles in his pocket to retrieve it. He answers it on the second ring and holds it up towards his mouth. He keeps his voice as soft as he possibly can but even at such a low volume his terror is evident.**

**JOHN (softly): It’s here. It’s in here with me.**

**SHERLOCK (over the phone): Where are you?**

**JOHN (softly): Get me out, Sherlock. You have got to get me out. The big lab: the first lab that we saw.**

**He breathes heavily. Outside, the creature growls. John whines loudly in terror and claps his hand over his mouth again.**

**SHERLOCK (over the phone): John? John?**

**JOHN (lowering his hand and keeping his voice no more than a whisper): Now, Sherlock. Please.**

**SHERLOCK (over the phone): All right, I’ll find you. Keep talking.**

**JOHN (softly): I can’t. It’ll hear me.**

**SHERLOCK (over the phone): Keep talking. What are you seeing?**

**Throughout the conversation, John has been peering through the small gap in the sheeting but the room is so dimly lit that he hasn’t been able to see anything.**

**SHERLOCK (over the phone): John?**

**The creature snarls again.**

**JOHN (softly): Yes, I’m here.**

**SHERLOCK (insistently, over the phone): What can you see?**

**Getting onto his knees, John crawls closer to the gap in the sheeting, trying to keep his terrified breathing under control.**

**JOHN (softly): I don’t know. I don’t know, but I can hear it, though.**

**The creature growls loudly.**

**JOHN (softly, terrified): Did you hear that?**

**SHERLOCK (over the phone): Stay calm, stay calm. Can you see it?**

**John peers into the gloom.**

**SHERLOCK (over the phone): Can you see it?**

**JOHN (quietly): No. I can...**

**He trails off, then slowly straightens up, retreats backwards and sits back against the side bars while his face fills with absolute horror.**

**JOHN (in a whisper): I can see it.**

**He stares ahead of himself, his eyes full of dread as a shadow begins to move on the other side of the sheeting.**

**JOHN (flatly): It’s here.**

**The shadow moves closer as the creature growls once more.**

**JOHN (flatly): It’s here.**

“If it’s there, why can’t we see it?” Anderson whined. “What? They can get the rest of this impossible footage, but that can’t show us one mutant dog creature?”

Mycroft scoffed. “This should be telling you something.”

“It’s not real after all,” Lestrade said. “They’re just seeing it because their minds are playing tricks on them. In there, and in the Hollow.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “But I’m just guessing that Sherlock simulated this scenario. He, after all, had access to the whole building, including the intercom system. How could they have seen it in the Hollow without him making the growling and scuffling over the intercom?”

**The shadow moves closer...and then the sheeting is tugged upwards and the lights come on in the lab at the same moment that Sherlock’s face appears on the other side of the cage, looking down anxiously at John as he pulls open the door and goes inside.**

**SHERLOCK (worriedly): Are you all right?**

**John’s eyes widen in utter bewilderment as Sherlock bends down to him and puts a hand onto his shoulder.**

**SHERLOCK: John ...**

**JOHN: Jesus Christ ...**

**He grabs the bars and pulls himself to his feet, hurrying out of the cage and stuffing his phone away as he turns back to his friend.**

**JOHN (still breathless and panic-stricken): It was the hound, Sherlock. It was here. I swear it, Sherlock. It must ...**

**He looks around the lab which – now fully illuminated – shows that there’s nowhere that a large monster can be hiding.**

**JOHN: It must ...**

**His voice becomes high-pitched.**

**JOHN: Did ... did ... did you see it? You must have!**

**Sherlock holds out a placatory hand towards him.**

**SHERLOCK: It’s all right. It’s okay now.**

**JOHN (high-pitched, frantic and hysterical): NO, IT’S NOT! IT’S NOT OKAY! I saw it. I was wrong!**

“John, your reaction was far worse than Sherlock’s,” Molly observed.

John scoffed, mildly offended. “I was scared, alright? I thought that I was about to die from some demon hound!”

**Sherlock shrugs while John breathes heavily.**

**Sherlock (calmly): Well, let’s not jump to conclusions.**

**JOHN: What?**

**SHERLOCK: What did you see?**

**JOHN: I told you: I saw the hound.**

**SHERLOCK: Huge; red eyes?**

**JOHN: Yes.**

**SHERLOCK: Glowing?**

**JOHN: Yeah.**

**SHERLOCK: No.**

**JOHN: What?**

**SHERLOCK: I made up the bit about glowing. You saw what you expected to see because I told you. You have been drugged. We have all been drugged.**

“I knew he made up the bit about the glowing!”

**JOHN: Drugged?**

**SHERLOCK: Can you walk?**

**JOHN (his voice shaky): ’Course I can walk.**

**SHERLOCK: Come on, then. It’s time to lay this ghost.**

**He turns and heads for the door. Still trying to catch his breath, John looks around the lab again, then stumbles after Sherlock.**

*****

**In a small room full of cages, Doctor Stapleton is examining a fluffy white rabbit on a metal table. She looks up when Sherlock comes through the door, followed by John.**

“It was her all along?” Anderson shouted.

“Of course not,” Lestrade said.

“How do you know?” Anderson countered.

“If she was behind the dog, she would’ve been more careful after Sherlock and John invaded the labs the first time. Besides, she has no connection to Henry, so why would she have the motive to cook up a demon dog, like from his nightmare?”

“The dog could’ve been from before. She could’ve made it and then he saw it when he was a little kid!” Anderson protested.

“She’s got a daughter who is younger than ten years old. That means she’s not nearly old enough to have been working at the base to splice genes together. Get your head on straight, Anderson.”

**STAPLETON: Oh. Back again? What’s on your mind this time?**

**SHERLOCK: Murder, Doctor Stapleton. Refined, cold-blooded murder.**

**He reaches back and turns off the light switch by the door.**

“Don’t let it ever be said that Sherlock Holmes wasn’t one for the dramatics,” John said.

**The limited lighting coming from the window at the end of the room is just enough to show that the rabbit is glowing a bright green. Sherlock turns the lights back on.**

**SHERLOCK: Will you tell little Kirsty what happened to Bluebell or shall I?**

**He smiles unpleasantly at her. She sighs.**

**STAPLETON: Okay. What do you want?**

**SHERLOCK: Can I borrow your microscope?**

*****

**LATER. In a larger lab, Sherlock has taken off his coat and is sitting at a bench and gazing into a microscope. Unhappy with what he’s seeing, he turns away from the ’scope and crushes something which looks crystalline into smaller pieces with a little hammer. Time passes and he varies between sitting with his back to the microscope, his hands folded in the prayer position in front of him while he thinks, or gazing into the ’scope, or scribbling chemical formulae onto the desk with different coloured marker pens.**

“he looks like he’s not finding what he wants to find,” Molly observed, frowning at the screen.

“How can you tell?” Anderson asked.

“He’s got this little tick around his eyes and mouth. Can’t you see it?”

**Nearby, John sits on a stool with his head propped on his hand, gazing blankly into space. Doctor Stapleton is standing near him.**

**STAPLETON: Are you sure you’re okay?**

**John looks up at her, blinking.**

**STAPLETON: You look very peaky.**

**JOHN: No, I’m all right.**

**STAPLETON: It was the GFP gene from a jellyfish, in case you’re interested.**

**JOHN: What?**

**STAPLETON: In the rabbits.**

**JOHN: Mm, right, yes.**

**STAPLETON (proudly): Aequoria Victoria, if you really want to know.**

**John looks up at her.**

**JOHN: Why?**

**STAPLETON: Why not? We don’t ask questions like that here. It isn’t done.**

**A short distance from them, Sherlock looks increasingly irritated as he picks up another slide and puts it under the microscope.**

**STAPLETON: There was a mix-up, anyway. My daughter ended up with one of the lab specimens, so poor Bluebell had to go.**

“What kind of faulty paperwork leads to a mix-up like that?” Sally muttered.

**JOHN (cynically): Your compassion’s overwhelming.**

**STAPLETON (mockingly): I know. I hate myself sometimes.**

**JOHN: So, come on then. You can trust me – I’m a doctor. What else have you got hidden away up here?**

**Exasperated, Sherlock takes out the slide again. Stapleton sighs.**

**STAPLETON: Listen: if you can imagine it, someone is probably doing it somewhere. Of course they are.**

**Sherlock is staring intently at his latest slide, then his eyes slide across to a nearby read-out on a screen.**

**JOHN: And cloning?**

**STAPLETON: Yes, of course. Dolly the Sheep, remember?**

**JOHN: Human cloning?**

**STAPLETON: Why not?**

**JOHN: What about animals? Not sheep...big animals.**

**STAPLETON: Size isn’t a problem, not at all. The only limits are ethics and the law, and both those things can be ... very flexible. But not here – not at Baskerville.**

**Furious, Sherlock stands up, snatches the latest slide out from under the ’scope and hurls it against the nearest wall.**

“I see it now,” Anderson said, as an answer to Molly’s earlier observation about Sherlock’s missing clue.

**SHERLOCK (livid): It’s not there!**

**JOHN: Jesus!**

**SHERLOCK: Nothing there! Doesn’t make any sense.**

**STAPLETON: What were you expecting to find?**

**SHERLOCK (pacing): A drug, of course. There has to be a drug – a hallucinogenic or a deliriant of some kind. There’s no trace of anything in the sugar.**

**JOHN: Sugar?**

**SHERLOCK: The sugar, yes. It’s a simple process of elimination. I saw the hound – saw it as my imagination expected me to see it: a genetically engineered monster. But I knew I couldn’t believe the evidence of my own eyes, so there were seven possible reasons for it, the most possible being narcotics. Henry Knight – he saw it too, but you didn’t, John. You didn’t see it. Now, we have eaten and drunk exactly the same things since we got to Grimpen apart from one thing: you don’t take sugar in your coffee.**

**JOHN: I see. So ...**

**SHERLOCK: I took it from Henry’s kitchen – his sugar. (He glares down at the microscope.) It’s perfectly all right.**

**JOHN: But maybe it’s not a drug.**

**SHERLOCK: No, it has to be a drug.**

**He has sat on the stool with his head buried in his hands. Now he lowers his hands a little but keeps his head bowed and his eyes closed.**

**SHERLOCK: But how did it get into our systems. How?**

Lestrade frowned. “John got sprayed in the face by a cloud of something or other in that other room…” he said quietly. Then he broke off into muttering.

**Slowly he begins to raise his head, still keeping his eyes closed.**

**SHERLOCK: There has to be something ...**

**The word ‘hound’ keeps drifting across his mind’s eye. He turns his head repeatedly as he tries to follow the words inside his head.**

“This is different from the last few times we saw his thinking process. Is it always going to be different?” Sally asked, tilting her head.

“How are any of us supposed to know? It’s all in Sherlock’s head,” John remarked.

**SHERLOCK: ... something ... ah, something ...**

**His eyes open.**

**SHERLOCK: ... something buried deep.**

**Taking a sharp breath through his nose, he turns and points imperiously at Stapleton.**

**SHERLOCK: Get out.**

**STAPLETON: What?**

**SHERLOCK: Get out. I need to go to my mind palace.**

**John sags on his seat with an “Oh, not again” look.**

“His what?” Sally asked.

**STAPLETON: Your what?**

**Sherlock has already turned his head away again and is staring ahead of himself. John stands up and picks up his jacket.**

**JOHN: He’s not gonna be doing much talking for a while. We may as well go.**

**Sherlock is breathing deeply, focusing his thoughts. Stapleton follows John as he heads for the door.**

**STAPLETON: His what?**

**JOHN: Oh, his mind palace. It’s a memory technique – a sort of mental map. You plot a map with a location – it doesn’t have to be a real place – and then you deposit memories there that ... Theoretically, you can never forget anything; all you have to do is find your way back to it.**

**STAPLETON: So, this imaginary location can be anything – a house or a street.**

**JOHN: Yeah.**

**STAPLETON: But he said “palace.” He said it was a palace.**

**JOHN (looking back towards Sherlock for a moment): Yeah, well, he would, wouldn’t he?**

“Why not? I mean, he’s a rich b****** with a flair for the dramatics. Of course it’s a palace,” Lestrade said, shaking his head with a wide grin on his face.

**He leads her out of the room.**

“This oughta be interestin’,” Sally mused.

**Sherlock gazes ahead of himself, his mind turned inwards as he walks through his memories unearthing everything he can recall in connection with the word “Liberty.” I could possibly do much better justice to describing the visual process that we watch, but if you want this transcript online this side of the London Olympics, I need to get it finished and I may try to come back and improve this section in the future. Sherlock accesses different examples of the word and when he finds them unsuitable, he physically flicks them away with his hands and pulls in new variations before brushing those aside. The word “hound” creeps into his mind and drifts across it as he temporarily gives up on “Liberty” and shifts to “In,” adding various letters onto the word to form new ones like “Inn,” “India,” “Ingolstadt” and “Indium atomic number = 49”.**

**Flicking that line of thought away, he starts calling up images of large dogs, running through various breeds and temporarily being distracted by the image of Elvis Presley starting to sing the first line of “Hound Dog.” Irritated, he brushes that aside and tries to pull in all three words – Liberty, In, Hound – simultaneously and suddenly his eyes snap open and he jolts three times as if he’s being repeatedly struck by lightning as the words finally crash into place:**

*****

**Liberty,**

**Indiana**

**H.O.U.N.D.**

*****

**He sinks back on his seat for a moment, then stands up and heads out of the lab.**

“Wow,” Molly said, staring at the screen in awe. “That was so…” She couldn’t even find the right word.

“Interesting. Like I said,” Sally interrupted.

“But where did he hear about whatever _Liberty, Indiana, H.O.U.N.D._ was in the first place? It’s a memory technique, not a superpower.”

John shrugged. “His brother is basically the British government. He could’ve heard it in passing. If it was anywhere within his earshot or sight or anything else, he could remember it.”

“That’s amazing,” Lestrade said.

Truthfully, Anderson was much more interested in how he could try the same technique and apply it to his own life. Then, maybe he could catch up to Sherlock’s level of cleverness. All he needed to do was figure out how to apply it.

Lestrade glanced at Anderson, guessing what the man was thinking. He just shook his head. Like _that_ would ever happen. Then again, he wasn’t going to discredit the idea. A man could dream, couldn’t he? Lestrade wasn’t going to stop him from thinking that he could ever catch up.

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	40. 2x2 Part 7 The Hounds of Baskerville

The screen showed more words. _“Well, seeing as Anderson will never catch up to Sherlock – which we can all safely agree – let’s just get on with it!”_

“Ah!” Anderson looked outright devastated. “I can catch up!”

Sally smacked him over the back of the head. “You can’t. Just face the facts.” When he refused, she just rolled her eyes. “Pathetic.”

“Quiet, you two! It’s starting!” Lestrade hissed at his subordinates.

**NIGHTTIME. THE MOORS. The hound howls and Henry races across the grass, his pistol in one hand, terrified as the hound snarls behind him. Henry runs on, glancing back repeatedly as he hears his pursuer gaining on him. Two red glowing eyes loom out of the darkness each time he looks around, but now he suddenly seems to realize that he has a gun in his hand, and he turns and fires towards the eyes.**

Molly’s eyes widened. “Why does he have a gun?”

**Glass shatters and Louise Mortimer screams and throws herself out of her chair in the sitting room of Henry’s house and cowers on the floor. Just beside her chair, the mirror on the wall has shattered under the impact of the bullet which Henry just fired into it. Sobbing and cowering, she looks up at Henry as he continues to aim at the mirror, his face blank, but now he comes back to himself and looks at the pistol in horror.**

“Oh, my word!” Mrs. Hudson exclaimed, throwing her hands over her mouth. “Is she alright?”

**HENRY: Oh my God.**

**Louise continues to sob.**

**HENRY: Oh my God. Oh my God. I am so... I am so sorry. I am so sorry.**

**He turns and runs from the room.**

Lestrade brushed his fingers over his chin. “He wasn’t that bad before…” he muttered. “It’s only been getting worse since he’s been to the Hollow. I guess it makes sense, being a trigger for the traumatic experience…” Of course, he knew how the case had ended, but getting there was another thing. He wanted to see if he could piece together all of the clues as they were being delivered to them. If only he could remove himself from the answer and just focus on the facts! (He never thought he’d be saying that…)

**BASKERVILLE. Stapleton leads Sherlock and John along a corridor and uses her card to swipe them into a large room which has Major Barrymore’s office in the corner. As they go into the room, Sherlock points back to the door they just came through.**

**SHERLOCK: John.**

**JOHN: Yeah, I’m on it.**

**He turns back to keep an eye on the door while Stapleton goes over to sit down at a computer.**

**SHERLOCK: Project HOUND. Must have read about it and stored it away. An experiment in a CIA facility in Liberty, Indiana.**

**He stands behind Stapleton while she types her User ID onto the computer, then adds her password. A request to “Enter Search String” comes up and she looks up at Sherlock who dictates the letters.**

**SHERLOCK: H, O, U, N, D.**

**She types in the letters and hits Enter. A message comes up saying “NO ACCESS. CIA Classified” and requesting an authorization code.**

**STAPLETON: That’s as far as my access goes, I’m afraid.**

**JOHN: Well, there must be an override and password.**

**STAPLETON: I imagine so, but that’d be Major Barrymore’s.**

**Sherlock spins around and walks into Barrymore’s office.**

**SHERLOCK: Password, password, password.**

**Switching on the lights in the room he sits down at the desk.**

**SHERLOCK: He sat here when he thought it up.**

**Folding his hands in front of his mouth, he slowly spins a full circle on the chair, looking around the office as he goes. Stapleton comes to the doorway.**

**SHERLOCK: Describe him to me.**

**STAPLETON: You’ve seen him.**

**SHERLOCK: But describe him.**

“Why?” Sally asked.

John just sighed. “Because he’s bollocks at reading emotion and needs a second perspective perhaps?”

“Oh, so the same reason he keeps you around then?” Lestrade teased.

John growled. If it had been anyone else, he wouldn’t have tolerated the line, but since it was Lestrade, he said nothing.

**STAPLETON: Er, he’s a bloody martinet, a throw-back, the sort of man they’d have sent into Suez.**

**SHERLOCK: Good, excellent. Old-fashioned, traditionalist; not the sort that would use his children’s names as a password. (He gestures towards the children’s drawings pinned on the board above the desk.) He loves his job; proud of it and this is work-related, so what’s at eye level?**

**He rapidly scans around everything in the room without altering the angle of his eyes.**

**SHERLOCK (gesturing to the right): Books. (Pointing to the left) Jane’s Defence Weekly – bound copies. (He looks to the right again and at the subject matter of some of the books on the bookshelf.) Hannibal; Wellington; Rommel; Churchill’s “History of the English-Speaking Peoples” – all four volumes.**

**He stands up and looks at a bronze bust on a shelf.**

**SHERLOCK: Churchill – well, he’s fond of Churchill. (He looks back to the bookcases again.) Copy of “The Downing Street Years”; one, two, three, four, five separate biographies of Thatcher.**

**He looks down at a framed photograph on the desk of a man in uniform standing with his teenage son.**

**SHERLOCK: Mid 1980s at a guess. Father and son: Barrymore senior. (Looking at the uniform of the older man) Medals: Distinguished Service Order.**

**He looks around to John who has come to the office door.**

**JOHN: That date? I’d say Falklands veteran.**

**SHERLOCK: Right. So Thatcher’s looking a more likely bet than Churchill.**

**He walks out of the office and heads back towards the computer.**

**STAPLETON (following him): So that’s the password?**

**SHERLOCK: No. With a man like Major Barrymore, only first name terms would do.**

Sally gulped. She knew that Sherlock was good at reading people, but being able to guess a computer passcode just by reading their office? “Glad he hasn’t been to my office…” she muttered.

“Why? Hiding anything scandalous on your computer?” Anderson teased.

“Shut it,” she snarled.

**Leaning down to the keyboard, he starts to type Margaret Thatcher’s first name into the “Auth-Code” box but stops when he reaches the penultimate letter. It’s possible that the password is limited to seven letters, or he may have already realized that it’s not the correct password. He narrows his eyes and deletes everything back to the first letter, then retypes it as “Maggie”. Looking into the screen and gritting his teeth ever so slightly, he hits Enter. The computer beeps happily and announces “OVERRIDE 300/421 ACCEPTED. Loading ...”**

Even though they knew the outcome – that of course Sherlock had guessed right – everyone watching held their breath, nerves buzzing as the computer loaded.

**John comes over from the door to look at the screen. After a slight pause information begins to stream across the screen as everything related to Project H.O.U.N.D. becomes available. Sherlock’s concentration becomes intense while he takes it all in, focusing on certain phrases like “extreme suggestibility,” “fear and stimulus,” “conditioned terror,” “aerosol dispersal.” A photograph comes up of the project team posing happily together and he identifies the five project leaders amongst the larger group: Elaine Dyson, Mary Uslowski, Rick Nader, Jack O’Mara and Leonard Hansen. Clearing the photo from the screen he rearranges the names into another order:**

*****

**Leonard Hansen**

**Jack O‘Mara**

**Mary Uslowski**

**Rick Nader**

**Elaine Dyson**

*****

**Standing beside him, Doctor Stapleton finally begins to understand.**

**STAPLETON: HOUND.**

**She stares at the screen in growing horror as more information from the project appears and words and phrases are highlighted such as “Paranoia,” “Severe frontal lobe damage,” “Blood-brain,” “Gross cranial trauma,” “Dangerous acceleration,” “Multiple homicide,” accompanied by photographs of some of the subjects of the project screaming insanely.**

**JOHN (softly): Jesus.**

**SHERLOCK (still scanning the information as it flows across the screen): Project HOUND: a new deliriant drug which rendered its users incredibly suggestible. They wanted to use it as an anti-personnel weapon to totally disorientate the enemy using fear and stimulus, but they shut it down and hid it away in 1986.**

**STAPLETON: Because of what it did to the subjects they tested it on.**

Molly cried out in horror. “And someone used this on Henry? How could they?”

“Some people will do anything to cover up a murder,” Lestrade said, shaking his head.

**SHERLOCK: And what they did to others. Prolonged exposure drove them insane – made them almost uncontrollably aggressive.**

**JOHN: So someone’s been doing it again – carrying on the experiments?**

**SHERLOCK: Attempting to refine it, perhaps, for the last twenty years.**

**STAPLETON: Who?**

**John nods at the screen, indicating the names of the project leaders.**

**JOHN: Those names mean anything to you?**

**STAPLETON: No, not a thing.**

**SHERLOCK (sighing): Five principal scientists, twenty years ago.**

**He pulls up the photograph of the team and begins zooming in on individuals within it. The closer footage shows that they are all wearing identical sweatshirts. Looming out of a diamond pattern in the centre of the sweatshirts is a large snarling wolf’s head and the legend “H.O.U.N.D.” is printed underneath. There is some smaller text underneath but it’s not yet clear what it says. Sherlock continues to zoom in and out of the photo to look more closely at the faces.**

**SHERLOCK: Maybe our friend’s somewhere in the back of the picture – someone who was old enough to be there at the time of the experiments in 1986 ...**

**He stops when he sees a face he recognizes and rolls his eyes a little as he realizes the truth.**

“Who is that?” Sally asked.

Anderson was squinting at the screen, trying to recognize the face, but he couldn’t. “Picture’s too fuzzy and too old. Who’d recognize someone from a twenty-year-old photograph other than Sherlock?” There was slight awe in his voice.

**SHERLOCK: Maybe somebody who says “cell phone” because of time spent in America. You remember, John?**

**JOHN: Mm-hm.**

**Brief flashback to Doctor Frankland giving a card to Sherlock and saying, “Here’s my, er, cell number.”**

“Oh! That guy!” Anderson said. “I still don’t see how he looks like that picture, though.”

“That’s because Holmes’ face is right in the middle of it.”

**SHERLOCK: He gave us his number in case we needed him.**

**STAPLETON (staring at the photo on the screen): Oh my God. Bob Frankland. But Bob doesn’t even work on... I mean, he’s a virologist. This was chemical warfare.**

**SHERLOCK: It’s where he started, though... and he’s never lost the certainty, the obsession that that drug really could work. Nice of him to give us his number. (He reaches into his pocket and takes out Frankland’s card.) Let’s arrange a little meeting.**

**He walks away from the computer. John walks closer to it and looks at the last image – a very tight close-up of one of the sweatshirts. Stitched below the “H.O.U.N.D.” legend is the name of the American town and state where the project was based: “Liberty, In”.**

**Just then John’s phone begins to ring. He digs it out of his pocket and frowns at the number on the screen, apparently not recognizing it. He answers.**

**JOHN: Hello?**

**Initially, the only sound he can hear is a woman crying.**

**JOHN: Who’s this?**

**MORTIMER (tearfully, over the phone): You’ve got to find Henry.**

**John looks round to Sherlock.**

**JOHN: It’s Louise Mortimer. (Into phone) Louise, what’s wrong?**

**MORTIMER (tearfully): Henry was...was remembering; then...he tried...**

**She gasps.**

**MORTIMER: He’s got a gun. He went for the gun and tried to...**

“At least he snapped out of it before he seriously hurt her,” Molly whispered, relieved.

**JOHN: What?**

**She breaks down in tears again.**

**MORTIMER: He’s gone. You’ve got to stop him. I don’t know what he might do.**

**JOHN: Where-where are you?**

**MORTIMER: His house. I’m okay, I’m okay.**

**JOHN: Right: stay there. We’ll get someone to you, okay?**

**Lowering his phone, he begins to text.**

**SHERLOCK: Henry?**

**JOHN: He’s attacked her.**

**SHERLOCK: Gone?**

**JOHN: Mm.**

**SHERLOCK (hitting a speed-dial on his own phone): There’s only one place he’ll go to: back to where it all started. (Into phone) Lestrade. Get to the Hollow. ... Dewer’s Hollow, now. And bring a gun.**

The screen blackened again.

“Wasn’t much in that one, was there?” Lestrade asked. “Seeing as you’ve just about wrapped up this case.” He nodded to John.

“Yeah… Sherlock’s just about finished the case, without any real help from me, unless you count nearly giving me a heart attack for his little experiment, that is. _Pfft_. Bloody sod was a real piece of work, wasn’t he?” he barked out a laugh – a laugh that was just bordering on a sob.

“That he was…” Lestrade grinned, then frowned.

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	41. 2x2 Part 8 The Hounds of Baskerville

More words illuminated the screen: _“This is the last part of this case. Then, we’ll continue to watch what I like to call, ‘The Reichenbach Fall’.”_ Everyone flinched upon hearing the title. _“Oops. Sorry, but that’s what it’s called. No worries, though, because as you watch that case, you’ll realize once and for all what a good man Sherlock is.”_ Almost immediately after everyone had finished reading it, the words vanished.

“Is?” Anderson whispered, sounding extremely confused.

(Nearly everyone was also confused by that choice of words, but Anderson was by far the most.)

“Could he still be alive?” Anderson whispered conspiratorially to himself. He then began muttering until Sally smacked him over the back of the head.

“It’s starting. _Shhh_!”

**With the pistol still in his hand, Henry is walking briskly across the moors towards the woods surrounding Dewer’s Hollow. Some distance behind him, Sherlock and John race across the terrain in the Land Rover. Unaware of this, Henry continues onwards, stopping momentarily to stare tearfully at the woods ahead of him, but then he continues onwards. Not long afterwards Sherlock pulls up presumably where the woods begin, and he and John get out and continue on foot. Henry reaches the lip of the Hollow and begins to make his way down into the misty valley. Reaching the bottom, he slows down and stumbles slowly forward, wandering around vaguely for a moment before coming to a halt.**

**HENRY (softly): I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Dad.**

**Squatting down, he brings up the pistol and opens his mouth as he aims the muzzle towards it.**

“Oh no…” Molly said. Her voice was small. She shook herself as a shiver ran through her body. “To think…someone would go so far as to scare a man out of his wits just to hide a murder. It’s…it’s _awful_!”

**SHERLOCK: No, Henry, no! No!**

“He’s got a gun!” Anderson warned, rather pointlessly. Though he was a grown man and had long since gotten out of the habit, he was on the verge of biting at his nails to contain his anxiety.

“Astute observation.” Mycroft rolled his eyes. There was no necessary need to be worried about his brother’s safety during this case, seeing as they already knew he’d escaped it unharmed. Besides, it wasn’t like John would let anything happen to his friend.

**He and John scramble down the slope, shining their torches towards him. Henry stands up and stumbles backwards, waving the pistol vaguely in their direction. His voice is high-pitched and hysterical.**

**HENRY: Get back. Get – get away from me!**

**JOHN: Easy, Henry. Easy. Just relax.**

**HENRY: I know what I am. I know what I tried to do!**

**JOHN: Just put the gun down. It’s okay.**

**HENRY (his voice hoarse with anguish): No, no, I know what I am!**

**SHERLOCK (as reassuring as he’ll ever sound): Yes, I’m sure you do, Henry. It’s all been explained to you, hasn’t it – explained very carefully.**

**HENRY: What?**

**SHERLOCK: Someone needed to keep you quiet; needed to keep you as a child to reassert the dream that you’d both clung on to because you had started to remember.**

Lestrade glanced over at Mycroft once again, as this topic came up again. Perhaps due to the recent exposure – or perhaps Lestrade was wrong altogether in his theory – Mycroft remained remotely unfazed by the statement. However, Lestrade was trained in reading people. After all, he needed to be able to read a witness or a suspect as he questioned them. He needed to be able to notice minute details, maybe not to the level that Sherlock could read them, but he was trained enough, and he noticed when Mycroft shifted in an uncomfortable manner.

It was such a small change that he could’ve imagined it – Mycroft was always the hardest person to read, more so than Sherlock, even, but Lestrade knew that his instincts weren’t lying. Mycroft had some connection to a person who experienced trauma as a young child. It wasn’t him; he would’ve reacted differently if so, he may not have even reacted at all if he was still lost in his own false memories. Mycroft wasn’t close to many people. Lestrade didn’t know him well, but he knew that much, just by the way the man interacted with…anyone, really.

That left only one plausible theory.

Sherlock.

It had to be.

He’d suspected for some time, but with his limited hints, all slowly falling to either side of him, he was able to reach out, pluck them up, and fit them into the glass puzzle he’d discovered. With that question answered, it only left dozens more springing up. What was the memory? What could’ve traumatized Sherlock so much as a youth that he rewrote his own memory – something that was so sacred to him! – with something new and untrue? Was he even aware of it?

Lestrade still didn’t know what his glass puzzle would be when he was finished, but at least he had to corner pieces – and everyone knows that the corner pieces of a puzzle are the most important. Maybe, as they continued watching, more of the pieces would reveal themselves to him.

For now, he returned to watching the screen, finding himself surprised by the fact that the video had been paused, as if just for him, and words briefly appearing over the blurred image. _“You done thinking for now, Greg? Then we can continue.”_

The other glanced at him, but soon their attention was diverted as the conversation on the screen continued.

**He begins to step closer to the young man.**

**SHERLOCK: Remember now, Henry. You’ve got to remember what happened here when you were a little boy.**

**Henry’s gun hand begins to droop momentarily but then he raises it again, his face full of his struggle to understand.**

**HENRY: I thought it had got my dad – the hound. I thought ...**

**He loses control and begins to scream in anguish.**

**HENRY: Oh Je... oh Jesus, I don’t – I don’t know anymore!**

**Sobbing, he bends forward and aims the muzzle into his mouth again.**

**JOHN (lurching forward towards him): No, Henry! Henry, for God’s sake!**

**SHERLOCK (urgently): Henry, remember. “Liberty In.” Two words; two words a frightened little boy saw here twenty years ago.**

**Henry begins to calm a little but still remains hunched over with the gun’s muzzle against his mouth.**

**SHERLOCK: You’d started to piece things together, remember what really happened here that night. It wasn’t an animal, was it, Henry?**

**Henry starts to straighten up, blinking.**

**SHERLOCK: Not a monster.**

**Henry turns to look at him.**

**SHERLOCK: A man.**

“Frankland,” John growled.

**Henry’s eyes widen as the memories begin to come. In brief flashes, he starts to relive the truth. As he has always remembered, his father is scrabbling at the ground trying to get away from his attacker, but now for the first time, Henry can see that what is pulling him backwards across the earth is not a creature but a man wearing a dark leather old-fashioned gas mask.**

“That’s so terrifying…” Molly breathed.

**The glass of the two large eyepieces is tinted a dark red and in the limited light available the eyepieces seem to be glowing. Young Henry watches from partway up the slope, cringing and terrified as the attacker pummels at his father, half strangling him and then punching wildly at his face. Mr. Knight manages to pull himself from under his assailant and starts to crawl away but the other man, growling fiercely, tugs him backwards and Henry’s father loses his balance and falls forward. His head strikes a rock and he collapses to the ground unmoving.**

“So, it was an accident,” Sally summed up. Her voice tried to seem uninterested - detached - like she’d practiced with all cases she had to work, but there was a tightness in it. She’d never _witnessed_ the murder being committed before. Not for real. She didn’t even watch crime shows, seeing as she got enough of that drama in her real-life job.

**Breathing heavily through the gas mask, the other man pokes at him, realizes that he isn’t going to move again and gets to his feet. He looks down at the man he has just killed, and young Henry sees the sweatshirt he is wearing, with its picture of a snarling wolf-like creature, the letters “H.O.U.N.D.” underneath and “Liberty, In” below them. Young Henry’s mind begins to mix everything up and, some hours later when he meets the old lady walking her dog, his new horror is complete, and he screams in utter terror.**

“That’s what really happened,” Anderson whispered. “No wonder we never saw the hound for real. It was all just a figment of his imagination.”

Mycroft resisted the urge to smack himself in the forehead hard enough to wake up. _Surely_ , this man couldn’t be such a dunce? Why did he even have to breathe the _same air_ as him? (Probably another reason why his little brother hated him so much.)

**In the present, he gapes at Sherlock as the truth reasserts itself in his mind.**

**SHERLOCK: You couldn’t cope. You were just a child, so you rationalized it into something very different. But then you started to remember, so you had to be stopped; driven out of your mind so that no-one would believe a word that you said.**

**Quietly John steps forward, holding out his hand encouragingly towards Henry as Greg Lestrade arrives and calls out while he trots down the slope towards them.**

**LESTRADE: Sherlock!**

“And Lestrade appears! Excellent timing,” Mrs. Hudson cheered. She clapped her hands together. “I love when Sherlock can wrap up his mysteries so nicely.”

**JOHN (gently to Henry): Okay, it’s okay, mate.**

**He carefully takes the pistol from Henry’s fingers. Henry speaks tearfully to Sherlock.**

**HENRY: But we saw it: the hound, last night. We s... we, we, we did, we saw ...**

**SHERLOCK: Yeah, but there was a dog, Henry, leaving footprints, scaring witnesses, but it was nothing more than an ordinary dog. We both saw it – saw it as our drugged minds wanted us to see it. Fear and stimulus; that’s how it works.**

**Henry stares at him in confusion. Sherlock returns his look sympathetically.**

**SHERLOCK: But there never was any monster.**

Anderson sighed. “That’s a relief.”

**The hound has different ideas, however, and now its anguished howl rings out in the woods above them. Everyone’s head snaps up and John and Greg aim their flashlights upwards to the top of the Hollow where a low shape can be seen slowly stalking along the rim and snarling.**

Anderson nearly jumped out of his skin. “What the bloody hell?” he screamed, voice raising nearly two octaves. “That can’t be fake, can it? That’s really there! I swear it’s real!”

John shook his head. “It’s just a regular old dog like Sherlock said. We were just seeing it for something it wasn’t.”

**JOHN: Sherlock...**

**Sherlock stares up in disbelief as Henry turns to him, horrified.**

**HENRY: No. (He begins to wail in panic.) No, no, no, no!**

**He backs away as Sherlock tries simultaneously to hold out a calming hand towards him while keeping his own torch shining up towards the creature above them.**

**SHERLOCK: Henry, Henry...**

**JOHN: Sherlock ...**

**The creature continues to slink along the rim of the Hollow as Henry begins to scream in abject terror. He crumples to his knees, continually screaming, “No!”**

**JOHN: Henry.**

**The hound turns towards the Hollow and looks down at everyone, snarling viciously. Its eyes glow in the torchlight as Henry continues to wail.**

**LESTRADE (staring up at the rim): Shit!**

**John turns and shines his torch into his face.**

**JOHN: Greg, are you seeing this?**

**Greg glances at him momentarily and his expression answers the question. Sherlock takes a quick look around to the inspector to see his face before turning back to stare up at the hound.**

**JOHN: Right: he is not drugged, Sherlock, so what’s that? What is it?!**

“So how _were_ you seeing it if you weren’t drugged?” Sally turned to her boss.

Lestrade frowned. “I _was_ drugged, at that point.”

“But _how_? Was it the inn? You were all at the inn at some point.”

“You’ll see as we wrap up this case.”

**As Henry continues to wail behind them, Sherlock screws his eyes shut for a brief moment, trying to handle the overload in his mind. He stares upwards again.**

**SHERLOCK: All right! It’s still here ... (he pants heavily for a moment before pulling himself together) ... but it’s just a dog. Henry! It’s nothing more than an ordinary dog!**

**The hound doesn’t think so and it raises its head and lets out a long terrifying howl.**

**LESTRADE (stumbling backwards): Oh my God.**

**And now the hound turns and leaps a short way down the slope, its eyes flashing red in the torchlight.**

**LESTRADE: Oh, Christ!**

**John stares at it as it stops again, its red glowing eyes now clearly visible as it opens its mouth and reveals a mouthful of long pointed teeth that you would never see on any dog. Its snarl is completely terrifying.**

Anderson turned to Mycroft, his face one of complete terror. (If it wasn’t just a show, and he was really there, he probably would’ve wet his pants as he waited to die.) “You can’t tell me that _that_ is just a figment of their imaginations, can you? I mean, it’s _right there_! Maybe this person can stalk us with hidden cameras everywhere, but they _can’t_ show us a video of something that isn’t really there!”

Sally nudged him. “It’s called video editing,” she hissed in his ear.

John shook his head. “It’d have to be some _excellent_ quality editing, then, because that was _exactly_ what we all saw. Right, Greg?”

Lestrade just nodded wordlessly.

**Henry has fallen silent, gazing up at it as if he knows that it is going to kill him shortly. Sherlock is still trying to believe what his own eyes are telling him...and now there’s movement behind them. Sherlock looks over his shoulder and sees a tall human figure through the mist. The new arrival is wearing a breathing mask with a clear visor over his face. Sherlock turns and rushes towards him, grabbing at the mask and ripping it upwards to fully reveal the man’s face...and Jim Moriarty grins manically back at him.**

Everyone immediately flinched upon seeing that man’s face. John seemed especially shaken as he panted for breath, leaning over to put his head in his hands. He _never_ wanted to see that man ever again. Not after what he did to Sherlock. Not after unmaking his whole life and forcing him to jump. (John _refused_ to believe that his friend was a fake, _especially_ after re-watching all of their cases together from Sherlock’s perspective. He clearly _wasn’t_ a fake.)

**SHERLOCK (staring at him in appalled horror): No!**

**Behind him, the hound growls ominously again. Jim’s expression becomes intense and murderous but then his head begins to distort and flail about, morphing between Jim’s face and someone else’s so quickly that it’s impossible to keep up with the changes. Sherlock grimaces, groaning at the insanity going on in front of him while Jim’s face keeps reasserting itself.**

**SHERLOCK (frantically): It’s not you! You’re not here!**

**Grabbing at the figure, he spins him around and then headbutts him in the face. The figure crumples slightly and raises his hand to his face as he straightens up...and now the man in front of Sherlock is Bob Frankland. Sherlock clings onto his jacket, his breathing panicked and frantic...but then he turns his head to one side and looks at the mist surrounding them. Frankland still has his hand clamped over his mouth and nose, and suddenly it all begins to make sense to Sherlock.**

**SHERLOCK: The fog.**

**JOHN (still aiming his torch up at the hound): What?**

**SHERLOCK: It’s the fog! The drug: it’s in the fog! Aerosol dispersal – that’s what it said in those records. Project HOUND – it’s the fog! A chemical minefield!**

**Greg instantly throws his arm across his face, trying to stop himself from breathing too much of the mist. The hound stalks closer to the group, snarling.**

**FRANKLAND: For God’s sake, kill it! Kill it!**

**The hound’s movements become more jittery as if it’s winding itself up to attack. Greg aims his pistol and fires three times at it. His bullets fly past it and it flinches momentarily but then rises up and leaps towards them. John’s aim is truer, and his bullets strike the hound accurately and throw it backwards. It squeals in pain and crashes to the ground, unmoving.**

“Good job being useful,” Lestrade muttered to himself.

Mrs. Hudson put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. It was taken care of in the end; that’s all that matters.”

**John and Greg watch it anxiously for any signs of movement, and Sherlock runs over to Henry and pushes him towards the hound.**

**SHERLOCK: Look at it, Henry.**

**HENRY (digging his heels in): No, no, no!**

**SHERLOCK (shoving him forward determinedly): Come on, look at it!**

**He bullies the young man forward until they can both clearly see it lying on the ground. In Sherlock’s torchlight, it is evidently nothing more than a huge dog. Henry stares at it for a moment and then turns back to where Frankland is still holding his injured face while Greg has his hands over his mouth as he tries to draw breath and come to terms with what he just experienced. Henry looks at Frankland.**

Anderson breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, God. It was just a dog. That was far too intense; it’s much scarier knowing it actually happened than in one of those horror films you know is all fake.”

**HENRY: It’s just... You bastard.**

**Hurling himself at the older man, he screams with rage.**

**HENRY: You… bastard!**

**Bundling him to the ground, he screams into his face while John and Greg run over and try to pull him off.**

**HENRY: Twenty years! Twenty years of my life making no sense! Why didn’t you just kill me?!**

**Finally, the others manage to pull him up.**

**SHERLOCK: Because dead men get listened to. He needed to do more than kill you. He had to discredit every word you ever said about your father, and he had the means right at his feet – a chemical minefield; pressure pads in the ground dosing you up every time that you came back here.**

**He holds his arms out wide and spins slowly in a circle, gesturing around the Hollow.**

**SHERLOCK: Murder weapon and scene of the crime all at once.**

**He laughs with delight.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, this case, Henry! Thank you. It’s been brilliant.**

**JOHN: Sherlock...**

**SHERLOCK (turning to him): What?**

**John glares at him pointedly.**

**JOHN: Timing.**

**SHERLOCK: Not good?**

Everyone sighed.

**HENRY: No, no, it’s – it’s okay. It’s fine because this means...**

**He starts to step towards Frankland. John moves with him, ready to intervene if he should try to attack him again.**

**HENRY: ...this means that my dad was right.**

**Frankland gets up onto his knees as Henry still tries to move towards him. John and Greg both put a gentle hand onto his shoulders to keep him back.**

**HENRY (tearfully): He found something out, didn’t he, and that’s why you’d killed him – because he was right, and he’d found you right in the middle of an experiment.**

**Frankland gets to his feet but before he can say anything there’s a savage snarl from behind the group. Everybody spins towards the dog. The dog whines in pain but gets up off the ground. John aims and fires towards it twice and it goes down again.**

“Are you sure it’s dead this time?”

John shrugged. “It had to be, but I wouldn’t know. We all had to run after Frankland.”

**Frankland takes the opportunity of the distraction to turn and run off in the opposite direction. Like the single-minded idiot that he is, Sherlock runs right across John’s line of fire, forcing him to lower his pistol, and chases off after the scientist. John turns and follows him up the slope.**

**SHERLOCK: Frankland!**

**Frankland runs through the woods with Sherlock and John in hot pursuit, Greg and Henry a little behind the other two.**

**SHERLOCK: Frankland!**

**LESTRADE (to Henry): Come on, keep up!**

**They run on.**

**SHERLOCK: It’s no use, Frankland!**

“Where does he expect to go?” Sally asked rhetorically.

**Reaching the barbed wire fence surrounding the minefield, Frankland doesn’t hesitate and jumps over. His feet tangle in the wire and he falls to the ground on the other side. He jumps up and runs on a few yards but then stops abruptly when his foot thumps down onto a mine, which makes a distinctive clink indicating that he has activated its pressure pad. He stares down at his foot, shining his torch onto the mine underneath and realizing that unless he remains completely still and doesn’t lift any pressure off it, the mine will blow. As the others hurry towards the barbed wire, he raises his head, sighs in resignation and deliberately lifts his foot. The others skid to a halt and duck down as a massive explosion rips into the air. As the blast dies down, Henry sinks back against a nearby tree while Sherlock gazes reflectively across the minefield.**

Molly shivers in disgust.

Lestrade raised an eyebrow at her. “Don’t you work with dead bodies all the time?”

Molly glared his way, albeit weakly. “It’s different. That’s just…a terrible way to go. And…he died because of his own stupidity,” she said. Then, she shrugged. “Or desperation.”

*****

**DAYTIME. CROSS KEYS INN. John is sitting at one of the outdoor tables. Billy brings out a plate containing whatever is the vegetarian equivalent of a full English breakfast and puts it on the table in front of him.**

**JOHN: Mmm. Thanks, Billy.**

**As Billy walks away, Sherlock brings over two mugs and puts one down on the table.**

**SHERLOCK: So, they didn’t have it put down, then – the dog.**

**JOHN (tucking into his breakfast while Sherlock stands next to him and drinks his coffee): Obviously. Suppose they just couldn’t bring themselves to do it.**

**SHERLOCK: I see.**

**JOHN (smiling): No, you don’t.**

**SHERLOCK: No, I don’t. Sentiment?**

Mycroft gave an almost indiscernible shake of his head, piquing Lestrade’s interest. A reaction? To what? Sentiment? He paused. Perhaps, but that didn’t seem likely. Maybe the mention of the dog? Specifically, a dead dog? Did Sherlock have a dog as a child? Yet another possible piece, but he wasn’t going to try to place it just yet. He’d keep it to the side, in a pile on its own as he waited for more of the puzzle to reveal itself.

**JOHN: Sentiment!**

**SHERLOCK (rolling his eyes): Oh.**

**He sits down on the bench next to John.**

**JOHN: Listen: what happened to me in the lab?**

**Sherlock looks at him for a moment, then turns around and reaches for a box of sauce sachets, looking worried about how he’s ever going to explain all this.**

**SHERLOCK: D’you want some sauce with that?**

**JOHN: I mean, I hadn’t been to the Hollow, so how come I heard those things in there? Fear and stimulus, you said.**

**SHERLOCK (rummaging through the box of sachets): You must have been dosed with it elsewhere, when you went to the lab, maybe. You saw those pipes – pretty ancient, leaky as a sieve; and they were carrying the gas, so... Um, ketchup, was it, or brown...?**

**JOHN: Hang on: you thought it was in the sugar.**

Greg’s lips quirked. “Sherlock was wrong.”

John shrugged. “It happens once or twice. Remember Harry? Back when I first met him?”

The rest nodded.

“I guess even the great Sherlock Holmes makes mistakes,” Anderson said. Then, quietly and to himself, he whispered. “Then I can still catch up.”

**Sherlock stares at him while trying to maintain a neutral expression.**

**JOHN: You were convinced it was in the sugar.**

**Sherlock looks away again.**

**SHERLOCK: Better get going, actually. (He looks at his watch.) There’s a train that leaves in half an hour, so if you want...**

Greg chuckled. “I can’t believe I’d ever see the day that Sherlock would awkwardly try to avoid a conversation.” He laughed louder. “He looks so nervous! I didn’t know Sherlock could _do_ nervous!” He sighed sadly. If they weren’t watching these videos, he would’ve never known.

**John turns his head away as he begins to realize the horrible truth.**

**JOHN: Oh God. It was you. You locked me in that bloody lab.**

**SHERLOCK: I had to. It was an experiment.**

**JOHN (furiously): An experiment?!**

**SHERLOCK (looking at people sitting nearby): Shhh.**

**JOHN (quieter, but still furious): I was terrified, Sherlock. I was scared to death.**

**SHERLOCK: I thought that the drug was in the sugar, so I put the sugar in your coffee, then I arranged everything with Major Barrymore.**

**John sighs in exasperation.**

**SHERLOCK: It was all totally scientific, laboratory conditions – well, literally.**

**Flashback to Sherlock alone in a room from where he can monitor the lab. Lazily sitting in a chair with his feet up on the table, he watches the screen in front of him which shows John racing across the darkened lab towards the cages as the ‘hound’ growls. A little later Sherlock wiggles his feet comfortably on the desk while John breathes panic-stricken into his phone. John can’t be seen on the screen because he’s hidden inside the cage.**

Despite the intensity of the situation and their looming dread, laughter echoed through the room, once again at John’s expense. He scowled.

**JOHN (whispering over the phone): It’s in here with me.**

**SHERLOCK (into his phone): All right. Keep talking. I’ll find you.**

**There’s a momentary silence.**

**SHERLOCK (into phone): Keep talking!**

**JOHN (over the phone): I can’t, it’ll hear me.**

**SHERLOCK: Tell me what you’re seeing!**

**He switches on a small recorder and holds it up to a nearby microphone. Savage growling is played into the lab.**

The laughter intensified. So did John’s scowl. He was nearly growling himself.

**JOHN (over the phone): I don’t know, but I can hear it now.**

**Back in the present, Sherlock continues his ‘explanation.’**

**SHERLOCK: Well, I knew what effect it had had on a superior mind, so I needed to try it on an average one.**

**John looks up from his plate.**

**SHERLOCK: You know what I mean.**

**John gets back to eating.**

**JOHN: But it wasn’t in the sugar.**

**SHERLOCK: No, well, I wasn’t to know you’d already been exposed to the gas.**

**JOHN: So, you got it wrong.**

**SHERLOCK: No.**

**JOHN: Mm. You were wrong. It wasn’t in the sugar. You got it wrong.**

**SHERLOCK: A bit. It won’t happen again.**

**Sighing, John continues eating, then looks around.**

**JOHN: Any long-term effects?**

**SHERLOCK: None at all. You’ll be fine once you’ve excreted it. We all will.**

**JOHN: Think I might have taken care of that already.**

**Sherlock snorts laughter, then looks across to a nearby table where Gary is pouring coffee for two other customers. He smiles apologetically across to Sherlock, who puts his mug on the table and stands up.**

**JOHN: Where’re you going?**

**SHERLOCK: Won’t be a minute. Gotta see a man about a dog.**

**Smiling down at John, he turns and walks away.**

*****

**Jim Moriarty sits silently and calmly with his eyes closed in the middle of a small windowless concrete-lined cell. In an adjoining room, Mycroft walks towards the other side of the one-way mirror which Jim is facing and narrows his eyes as he looks closely at the other man.**

“What’s this, Mycroft?” John asked, turning to him. “What are you doing?”

*****

**Some time afterwards, the door to the cell is unlocked and Jim opens his eyes but does not turn around as Mycroft walks in.**

**MYCROFT (voiceover): All right. Let him go.**

John nearly launched himself at the other man. “How…how _dare_ you?” he screamed, seething.

Greg held him back, worried the shorter man would actually start foaming at the mouth.

“I had no choice,” Mycroft said.

“Of course, you had a choice! You should’ve kept that evil man locked up for the rest of his miserable life! How could you possibly let him go?”

“He gave us the information. Very useful information. I couldn’t have possibly predicted that he would go after my brother the way he did.”

It was Greg’s turn to frown, disappointed. At this point, he didn’t care if this man was his boss and could have his job at any moment. “You knew that man had an unhealthy obsession with Sherlock. If you couldn’t predict what would happen, then you’re not as smart as you say you are.”

*****

**Later, Mycroft has left the cell again. A man in a suit has opened the cell door and has walked inside.**

**Jim turns and casually strolls out of the cell. Behind him, the man turns and looks around the room. On almost every plain concrete panel of the walls, Jim has somehow carved a single word into the cement. In different sizes and at different angles, the word repeats all around the cell – and the word is SHERLOCK.**

**And with the dust, which was loosened by the carving, Jim has scratched Sherlock’s name backwards on the mirror so that whoever is watching him from the other side of the mirror will see the name the right way around.**

**The man in the suit turns and walks away, closing the cell door behind him.**

John still wasn’t calm, but he knew that attacking Mycroft for his foolhardy mistake wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t even make him feel better because Sherlock was still gone.

The next case would be their last, surely. How could it not be? Sherlock was dead. Once the next case was over, they’d surely be transported back to the exact moment they’d left, probably remembering everything, because, well, what was the point of watching it all if they forgot as soon as they left?

All at once, John couldn’t wait for the next “episode” to start, and he didn’t want it to start at all. Seeing it again, reliving all of that pain again…it would only tear open the wound that had just barely healed over his heart. It would cement his death into something solid – something he didn’t want it to become.

Alas, John wouldn’t get either of his wishes, because more snacks appeared before them, and he knew it was time for another break. Maybe that was the right answer. He’d need to fully prepare himself before the floodgates of repressed emotions was washed open again. He’d be ready.

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	42. 2x3 Part 1 The Reichenbach Fall

The snacks disappeared far too quickly for John’s tastes. He sort of wished that he could eat himself into a food coma so he wouldn’t have to relive his best friend’s death, or perhaps he would just eat himself to death, or maybe even just eat so much so that he could just delay the next episode coming (the last one was the least dramatic; Sherlock wouldn’t like it. He’d think it was too dull).

Either way, the food vanished, and the lights dimmed yet again, this time bringing the shadow of dread to the room. This was the last episode. Wasn’t it? Surely, there could be no more after this, for Sherlock – the main protagonist, if this really was a show – was dead. It couldn’t continue without him, anyway. Or…perhaps it did continue, like the passing of a torch. Still, John knew that it would end right where they’d left off, with him and Mrs. Hudson in the graveyard, and they’d most likely be sent back, knowing that Sherlock wasn’t a fake after all.

**John Watson sits in a chair as rain pours down outside the window and thunder rumbles. He looks tired and his face is full of pain.**

**ELLA (offscreen): Why today?**

“What’s she talking about, John?” Molly asked in a gentle voice. Clearly, it started after Sherlock’s death; John was in mourning. Only a few of the viewers recognized the woman as John’s therapist.

“My appointment,” John said with a sigh.

**John frowns enquiringly. His therapist is sitting opposite him.**

**JOHN: D’you want to hear me say it?**

**ELLA: Eighteen months since our last appointment.**

“Has it really only been eighteen months since you’ve known him?” Lestrade asked. He leaned back, eyes swimming with shadows of their cases together.

**JOHN (his voice becoming quietly angry): D’you read the papers?**

**ELLA: Sometimes.**

**JOHN: Mmm, and you watch telly? You know why I’m here.**

**There’s a pained groan in his voice as he ends the sentence.**

**JOHN: I’m here because ...**

**His voice breaks and he can’t continue. He looks down, swallowing hard while he fights not to weep. Ella leans forward sympathetically.**

**ELLA: What happened, John?**

**John closes his eyes, trying to get control of himself, then looks up at her again, his eyes full of loss. He clears his throat and breathes heavily.**

**JOHN (his voice breaking): Sher...**

**He can’t continue and he clears his throat again, swallowing hard.**

**ELLA (gently): You need to get it out.**

**JOHN (softly, his voice full of pain and tears): My best friend...Sherlock Holmes...**

**He sniffs, forcing his voice through the anguish.**

**JOHN: ...is dead.**

**He breaks and begins to cry.**

Normally, someone – perhaps Mrs. Hudson or Lestrade – would pipe in, questioning whether they were just friends, but both refrained, choked up themselves, and also seeing the pain in John’s eyes as he relived that session.

They watched the final opening credits of the strange videos – the series of episodes that revolved around all of the cases that John and Sherlock had gone through, been stumped, and – most of the time – eventually solved. It still seemed so surreal that their lives could be considered a television show, but then again, watching the events play out, it would be a pretty good show. _The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes (and Doctor Watson!)_ as it would probably be called.

*****

**THREE MONTHS EARLIER. In an art gallery, the Director of the gallery is finishing his speech as he stands near a painting.**

**GALLERY DIRECTOR: Falls of the Reichenbach, Turner’s masterpiece, thankfully recovered owing to the prodigious talent of Mr. Sherlock Holmes.**

John actually flinched. That was where it all began.

**The patrons applaud. Sherlock and John are standing nearby. The Director gives a small gift-wrapped box to Sherlock.**

**DIRECTOR: A small token of our gratitude.**

**Sherlock takes the box and looks at it.**

**SHERLOCK: Diamond cufflinks. All my cuffs have buttons.**

**JOHN (to the Director): He means thank you.**

**SHERLOCK: Do I?**

**JOHN: Just say it.**

**SHERLOCK (insincerely to the Director): Thank you.**

**He starts to walk away but John holds him back.**

**JOHN: Hey.**

**Sherlock unwillingly stops and the press starts taking photographs. Later, one of the photographs appears in a newspaper article headed “Hero of the Reichenbach”. The straplines read “Turner masterpiece recovered by ‘amateur’”; “Scotland Yard embarrassed by overlooked clues”. The article describes Sherlock taking the case as a hobby, but then following the clues back to the missing painting – clues that were missed by Scotland Yard. The newspaper flips to yet another story.**

Mycroft sighed as the text disappeared. “You’d think that they’d at the very least proofread their newspaper articles.”

“How did you read it that fast? It was only on there for a second!” Anderson was astonished.

Mycroft nearly smacked himself in the face out of the other man’s sheer stupidity. He felt the need to explain. “I read the article when it was published…”

Anderson’s face couldn’t have been redder. “Oh… Right.”

**A new newspaper article reads “Top Banker Kidnapped”. The article continues on to explain Sherlock’s case, but all too quickly, the text disappears offscreen.**

**Outside the banker’s house, the rescued man is standing with his arms around his wife and young son and the press film and photograph them while Sherlock and John stand uncomfortably nearby.**

**FATHER: Back together with my family after my terrifying ordeal; and we have one person to thank for my deliverance – Sherlock Holmes.**

**As the public applaud, the boy smiles and offers a small gift-wrapped box to Sherlock. He takes it and rattles it briefly.**

**SHERLOCK (to John): Tie pin. I don’t wear ties.**

Mrs. Hudson shook her head. “It’s too bad no one knows Sherlock that well. He deserves a gift that he would enjoy.”

**JOHN: Shh.**

**A photograph of the scene appears in the next edition of the newspaper, headed “Reichenbach hero finds kidnap victim”.**

**New article: “Ricoletti evades capture”. The image cuts to Scotland Yard where D.I. Greg Lestrade is addressing a press conference. Sherlock and John stand nearby, and D.S. Sally Donovan and Doctor Anderson are at the back of the room.**

**LESTRADE: Peter Ricoletti. Number one on Interpol’s Most Wanted list since 1982. But we got him; and there’s one person we have to thank for giving us the decisive leads...with all his customary diplomacy and tact!**

**Sherlock smiles insincerely towards Greg while John leans closer to Sherlock and speaks quietly.**

**JOHN: Sarcasm.**

**SHERLOCK: Yes.**

Anderson grinned. “I like how you feel the need to let him know what other people are expressing emotionally,” he said, generally sincere. “He’s the brain, for sure, but even geniuses have a weakness, and that’s why he has you. I see that now.”

The corners of John’s mouth tilted upward in a melancholy almost-smile. At least watching these episodes had done _something_. If opening Anderson’s eyes to the truth of Sherlock’s nature was the goal, they’d surely succeeded.

**As the press applaud, Greg walks over to Sherlock and gives him a gift-wrapped package, smiling cheerfully.**

**LESTRADE: We all chipped in.**

**As Sherlock tears open the wrapping paper, Sally and Anderson grin expectantly. He pulls out a deerstalker hat.**

Molly smiled. “This gift was the most obvious, but it was the only one he opened.”

“Guess that means he likes us,” Lestrade interjected.

**SHERLOCK (trying to smile): Oh!**

**FIRST REPORTER: Put the hat on!**

**SECOND REPORTER: Put the hat on!**

**LESTRADE: Yeah, Sherlock, put it on!**

**Sherlock looks at the reporters as if he’d like to kill them. John clears his throat uncomfortably.**

**JOHN (quietly): Just get it over with.**

**Glowering at him, Sherlock shoves the wrapping paper into his hands, then unhappily puts the hat on his head. Flashbulbs go mad and everyone applauds. At the back of the room, Sally claps with sarcastic delight while Anderson, the douche, grins smugly. Sherlock smiles at the press through gritted teeth and glances at Greg as if promising him a world of pain later.**

**Sometime later, the “Daily Star” prints a World Exclusive on its front page: “Boffin Sherlock solves another” with the strapline: “Hero ‘Tec cracks ‘unsolvable’ case”.**

*****

**221B BAKER STREET. John is sitting on the sofa reading the papers while Sherlock, wearing his blue dressing gown over his shirt and trousers, stomps across the room and throws the Daily Star onto the pile of newspapers on the coffee table.**

**SHERLOCK (indignantly): “Boffin.” “Boffin Sherlock Holmes.”**

“It isn’t the worst one they could’ve thought up,” Molly admitted.

**JOHN: Everybody gets one.**

**SHERLOCK: One what?**

**JOHN: Tabloid nickname: ‘SuBo’; ‘Nasty Nick.’ Shouldn’t worry – I’ll probably get one soon.**

**SHERLOCK: Page five, column six, first sentence.**

**John turns to the relevant page. Sherlock goes over to the fireplace, picks up the deerstalker, holds it up and punches it angrily.**

**SHERLOCK: Why is it always the hat photograph?**

**JOHN (looking at the newspaper article): “Bachelor John Watson”?**

**SHERLOCK: What sort of hat is it anyway?**

**JOHN: “Bachelor”? What the hell are they implying?**

“That you go on way too many dates and can’t make any of them stick,” Sally answered for him.

**SHERLOCK (holding up the hat and twisting it back and forth rapidly): Is it a cap? Why has it got two fronts?**

“Take note,” Sally said, “The one thing that stumped the great Sherlock Holmes! A hat with two fronts!” Her joke fell flat.

**JOHN (glancing up briefly): It’s a deerstalker. (He reads more of the article.) “Frequently seen in the company of bachelor John Watson...”**

**SHERLOCK: You stalk a deer with a hat? What are you gonna do – throw it?**

A quiet chatter of laughter followed Sherlock’s remark.

**JOHN (looking at another part of the article): “...confirmed bachelor John Watson”!**

**SHERLOCK: Some sort of death frisbee?**

“You’re both having independent conversations as if the other is listening. Is this how it usually is?” Molly asked. She hid her mouth behind her hand as a giggle slipped through.

“You’ve seen a lot of what goes on between us,” John deflected.

“I wish we could see more, though. You two are the best of friends; it’s nice to see him when he’s not all…serious, you know?”

“Can we please talk about Sherlock calling his hat a death frisbee?” Anderson asked. He’d been hiding his laughter for the duration of the others’ conversation, but he couldn’t hold it back anymore.

“You’d think he’d be able to figure it out. Greatest detective and all,” Lestrade stated.

In the change of subject, no one commented on Molly’s use of the word “are best of friends” instead of “were”. (Except for Mycroft, who send her a very brief warning look. Thankfully, the others were far too preoccupied in their amusement to notice.)

**JOHN: Okay, this is too much. We need to be more careful.**

**SHERLOCK: It’s got flaps ... ear flaps. It’s an ear hat, John.**

**He accurately skims the hat across the room to John, who doesn’t have to do more than bend his wrist to catch it.**

**SHERLOCK: What do you mean, “more careful”?**

**JOHN: I mean this isn’t a deerstalker now; it’s a Sherlock Holmes hat. I mean that you’re not exactly a private detective anymore. (He holds his thumb and forefinger an inch apart.) You’re this far from famous.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, it’ll pass.**

**He slumps down into his armchair and folds his hands in the prayer position in front of his mouth.**

**JOHN: It’d better pass. The press will turn, Sherlock. They always turn, and they’ll turn on you.**

Lestrade looked down. “That was Moriarty’s plan all along, wasn’t it?”

The others turned to him, confused.

“What does that mean? How could Moriarty have planned this? Wasn’t he just using this to enact his plan?” Anderson asked. (Sally still refused to fully believe that Moriarty was a real person, even though she was having doubts.)

“Hear me out,” Lestrade leaned forward, “because this _must_ make sense. He used the name Richard Brooke as an alibi, right? That’s what Reichenbach means, doesn’t it? That Reichenbach case was what made Sherlock famous; it had clues that only S _herlock_ would see. Don’t you think that’s just a little suspicious? And on top of that, these videos we’ve been watching have all been about cases that Moriarty had a direct hand in; that’s got to stand for something, donn’it?”

The others were silent for a moment. Mycroft, slipping, smiling, a little reassured that at least there was _someone_ higher than incapable on the force. No wonder Sherlock was so fond of the DI. He was out of his depth far too often, but Lestrade wasn’t stupid. He earned the position he had at Scotland Yard, but there was only so much a normal man could do against a psychopath like Jim Moriarty.

**Sherlock lowers his hands and looks more closely at John.**

**SHERLOCK: It really bothers you.**

**JOHN: What?**

**SHERLOCK: What people say.**

**JOHN: Yes.**

**SHERLOCK: About me? I don’t understand – why would it upset you?**

**John holds his gaze for a moment, then looks away.**

“Because he loves you, Sherlock!” This time, Lestrade couldn’t keep his words to himself.

**JOHN: Just try to keep a low profile. Find yourself a little case this week. Stay out of the news.**

*****

**TOWER OF LONDON 11:00**

**Tourists are walking about in the grounds, looking around, talking to the Beefeaters, taking photographs. One tourist wearing jeans, trainers, a light grey jacket and a cap with “London” printed on it and with a union flag on the peak is aiming his camera phone around and taking pictures like all the others, but this person appears to be more interested in the security staff than anything else.**

“Who is that?” Anderson questioned.

“Moriarty,” John growled.

**The other thing that piques his interest is the sign pointing the way to the Crown Jewels. He lowers his camera, chewing nonchalantly on a piece of gum, and we see that this is none other than Jim Moriarty.**

*****

**At 221B, a phone in the living room trills a text alert. Sherlock is sitting at the table in the kitchen, looking into his microscope. John comes along the corridor leading from Sherlock’s bedroom [your transcriber is saying nothing, but just look at the height of her raised eyebrows ...] with wet hair, wearing a bathrobe and rubbing the back of his neck with a towel.**

**JOHN: It’s your phone.**

**SHERLOCK (disinterestedly): Mm. Keeps doing that.**

“That _usually_ means that someone is trying to talk to you,” Sally muttered sarcastically.

**John walks into the living room, goes past the body in a suit which is hanging by its neck from the ceiling, sits down in his chair and picks up a newspaper. The body sways gently in the breeze.**

“Is that a body?” Sally’s mood spun around as she nearly jumped out of her seat in alarm.

**JOHN: So, did you just talk to him for a really long time?**

**Sherlock looks up and glances across to the body. It’s not a real person but a mannequin.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh. Henry Fishgard never committed suicide.**

This time, most people in the room flinched at the dreaded word.

“Is Henry the name of the mannequin, or the name of the person he represents?” Anderson dared to inquire.

John shrugged. “I wasn’t too involved in that case, so I dunno.”

**He picks up an old hardback book from the table and slams it shut in a flurry of dust before going back to his microscope.**

**SHERLOCK: Bow Street Runners: missed everything.**

**JOHN: Pressing case, is it?**

**SHERLOCK: They’re all pressing ’til they’re solved.**

*****

**At the White Tower in the Tower of London, tourists are passing through a metal detector on their way to see the Crown Jewels. A security man gives some items back to a tourist.**

**SECURITY MAN: Put your keys in there, please.**

**Jim walks through the detector which beeps an alarm.**

**SECURITY MAN: Excuse me, sir.**

**Still chewing on his gum, Jim stops and steps back again.**

**SECURITY MAN: Any metal objects – keys, mobile phones?**

**Smiling apologetically, Jim takes his phone out of his pocket and puts it into the tray.**

**SECURITY MAN: You can go through.**

**Jim steps through the detector again, which stays silent this time. The security man slides the tray across, and Jim takes the phone again.**

**SECURITY MAN: Thank you.**

Lestrade clenched his fists. If only they had been able to catch that psychopath before he caused so much harm!

**Jim walks on and enters the room. He stops at the large display case in the middle of the room and looks at the throne inside the case. On the throne is a red velvet cushion with an ornate crown resting on it. An equally ornate orb is balanced on one arm of the throne and a sceptre rests across the other arm. As other tourists walk around the case, Jim takes a pair of earphones from his pocket and pokes them into his ears. Bending his head from side to side to crack his neck, he lifts his phone and switches it on, then closes his eyes in bliss, still rolling his head on his neck and spreading his arms either side of him and then slowly beginning to lower them as the Overture to Rossini’s “The Thieving Magpie” begins to play.**

Mycroft scoffed. “What an appropriate song to choose, considering all of the damage he caused in one move.”

**In the nearby surveillance room, one of the two men watching the security footage from all around the Tower turns to his colleague.**

**SURVEILLANCE MAN 1: Fancy a cuppa, then, mate?**

**SURVEILLANCE MAN 2: Yeah, why not?**

**The first man stands up and walks away.**

*****

**BANK OF ENGLAND 11:00**

**A man brings a tray containing a cup and saucer and a milk jug into the office of the bank’s Director.**

**BANK DIRECTOR (looking at his computer screen): Gilts at seven; Dutch telecoms in freefall. Thank you, Harvey.**

**Harvey puts down the tray onto the table and leaves the room again.**

*****

**PENTONVILLE PRISON 11:00**

**The prison’s governor, with an enormous “Keep calm and carry on” mug full of tea on his desk, slams a file down onto his desk while several warders sit or stand nearby.**

**PRISON GOVERNOR: What do you say: refuse them all parole and bring back the rope! Let’s begin.**

*****

**At the Tower, Jim finishes lowering his arms and then lifts up the phone and scrolls through the app icons on it. He pushes aside the one that has a cartoon of a prisoner with striped prison clothes and standing behind bars, scrolls past the one of a piggy bank with the English flag on it, and selects the one with a crown on it. The icon of the crown unfolds like a padlock being unlocked and digital code begins to stream out into the air, and in the surveillance room alarms begin to beep in warning as some of the TV screens go blank. An automated voice plays into the White Tower.**

**VOICE (repeatedly): This is an emergency. Please leave the building.**

Sally and Anderson both squinted at the screen. “How is he doing that? How could he hack the Tower of London?”

**The tourists start to hurry out of the room. A security guard walks over to Jim, perhaps assuming that he can’t hear the alarm through his earphones and puts a hand onto his shoulder to attract his attention.**

**SECURITY GUARD: Sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.**

**Jim turns and sprays something into his face and he immediately collapses. The security door closes and locks, and Jim takes off his cap and smooths out his hair. In the surveillance room, the man slams down the cups of tea he was bringing back, grabs a phone and starts to dial.**

*****

**At Scotland Yard, Sally Donovan hurries across the office and opens the door to Greg’s office.**

**DONOVAN: Sir, there’s been a break-in.**

**Greg has his feet up on the desk and is drinking coffee and eating a pastry.**

**LESTRADE (with his mouth full): Not our division.**

**DONOVAN: You’ll want it.**

*****

**At the White Tower, Jim scrolls through the apps on his phone and selects the English piggy bank. The piggy bank breaks open to reveal many gold coins, and digital code streams out into the air. At the Bank of England, the Director looks down at the cup of tea he is holding as the liquid inside begins to shimmer and the building vibrates gently.**

**BANK DIRECTOR: The vault!**

**Alarms blare and his screen flashes the alarm “VAULT OPENING”. A graphic on the screen shows the door to the vault swinging slowly open. The Director’s jaw drops, and he stares in disbelief, his teacup slowly tilting in his hand until the tea pours out into his lap.**

A few of the viewers hiss at the thought of the hot tea being spilled into the man’s lap.

*****

**Greg is driving Sally over a bridge across the river with sirens blaring. Sally has just got an update on her phone.**

**LESTRADE: Hacked into the Tower of bloody London security?! How?!**

**Sally’s phone rings and she answers it.**

**LESTRADE: Tell them we’re already on our way.**

**DONOVAN: There’s been another one; another break-in.**

**Greg stares across at her while she listens.**

**DONOVAN: Bank of England!**

*****

**At the White Tower, Jim is chomping on his gum while he flamboyantly scrawls a message onto the glass of the display case with a white marker. Finishing the message – which can’t yet be clearly seen – he draws a smiley face inside the letter “O.”**

“That says Sherlock, doesn’t it?” Molly asked, though her tone suggested that she really didn’t want an answer.

**Lifting his phone once more, he selects the app with the prisoner on it. The bars over the prisoner lift away and the striped top which the icon is wearing turns into a plain black one, then the image changes to a keyhole. Digital code streams out into the air. In Pentonville Prison, the governor is just lifting his mug to his mouth when alarms begin to sound. A prison warder bursts into the room.**

**PRISON WARDER: Sir, security’s down, sir. It’s failing!**

**The governor surges to his feet, accidentally sweeping his mug off the table and onto the floor.**

*****

**On the road, Sally gets another phone call. Greg looks across to her.**

**LESTRADE: What is it now?**

**DONOVAN: Pentonville Prison!**

**Greg stares at her in disbelief.**

**LESTRADE: Oh no!**

*****

**At the White Tower, Jim holds his piece of chewing gum between his teeth and pulls the end of it out towards the case and sticks it onto the glass.**

Sally shivered. “Gross!”

**Leaving the whole piece of gum stuck there, he takes a tiny diamond from a box and, grinning manically, carefully presses the jewel into the gum. Turning away from the case, he slips off his jacket and drops it to the floor, revealing a plain white V-necked T-shirt underneath, then raises his arms upwards either side above his head in an almost balletic flourish. Outside, police cars and vans begin to pour into the Tower grounds. Jim continues to dance around the White Tower while outside, the last of the tourists are hustled out of the building. Pulling black leather mitts onto his hands, Jim goes to the wall and picks up a fire extinguisher. Outside, armed police leap out of a van and run into the Tower. Inside, Jim dances dramatically towards the case, raises the fire extinguisher with the bottom end pointed towards the glass and, grinning happily, rams it towards the chewing gum and diamond.**

All three Yarders inhaled sharply.

**The glass shatters around the impact point. The armed police charge through the metal detector, repeatedly setting off the alarm. Jim smashes the extinguisher into the glass a couple more times and eventually, the entire pane disintegrates and falls to the floor.**

**Greg’s car screams into the grounds and he and Sally jump out and race into the White Tower. Inside, the armed police disable the lock to the door, and it swings open. They charge inside and are greeted by the sight of Jim Moriarty sitting on the throne inside the case, wearing an ermine-trimmed robe, the crown on his head, the orb between his knees and holding the sceptre across his lap, with his earphones still in. He has his eyes closed in bliss as the music comes to an end. He opens his eyes and smiles at the new arrivals.**

**JIM (calmly): No rush.**

“Wasn’t that the first time you actually were aware of Moriarty? I can’t remember if he was mentioned, nor do I know much about what was behind the scenes without these videos,” Molly pondered quietly.

The screen was blank in front of them yet again.

“What a place to end…” John heaved a sigh. His heart was already clenched, rushing with fury and sorrow at the same time. It beat wildly in his ribcage, caged and wanting to escape like an enraged gorilla, wishing to end Moriarty once and for all. Alas, Moriarty was already dead, and he took Sherlock Holmes down with him.

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	43. 2x3 Part 2 The Reichenbach Fall

_“Let’s just get right into the next bit, shall we?”_

**221B. Sherlock’s phone trills another text alert. John lowers his newspaper.**

**JOHN (tetchily): I’ll get it, shall I?**

**He stands up and walks over to the phone, picking it up and checking the message while Sherlock continues to look into his microscope. John’s face slowly fills with shock. He turns and takes the phone into the kitchen, holding it out to Sherlock.**

“What’s wrong, John?” Molly asked. She was starting to get worried. “Was that a text about Moriarty?”

John nodded.

**JOHN: Here.**

**SHERLOCK (not looking up): Not now, I’m busy.**

**JOHN: Sherlock...**

**SHERLOCK: Not now.**

**JOHN (breathing heavily): He’s back.**

**Sherlock lifts his head and takes the phone. The message on the screen reads:**

*****

**Come and play.**

**Tower Hill.**

**Jim Moriarty x.**

*****

Anderson shivered. “Does anyone else feel weird that Moriarty always seems to be flirting with Sherlock?” he asked. “I mean, that dominatrix woman said that a disguise is always a self-portrait, and when he first met Sherlock, Moriarty was posing as gay, and then even when he revealed himself, he kept flirting with him. Do you think…?”

“He was probably just trying to get a rise out of Sherlock. Miss Adler did say that he called the Holmes brothers the ‘Iceman’ and the ’Virgin’. He’s trying to distract Sherlock by being outrageous.” Molly was in denial. She just couldn’t give thought to the idea that Moriarty was legitimately flirting with the man she liked. (Even if before watching these episodes, she hadn’t known much about him.) She’d once been in love with the idea of Sherlock, but now, she could see his flaws – as well as his blessings – and she felt herself falling deeper.

(That didn’t mean he’d actually loved or would ever love her, though.)

“We can’t know anything for sure about Moriarty,” Lestrade said, “not even his real name. There are no records of the man anywhere.”

**Sherlock’s eyes widen and he sinks back on his chair and gazes into space.**

*****

**Back at the Tower, Jim is smiling calmly as he is being put into the back of a police car. Behind him, Greg and Sally come out of the building and watch, then Greg looks down at Jim’s phone which he is holding.**

“How did he even send that text if he was being arrested?” Sally whispered.

“Maybe he sent it beforehand?” Anderson suggested.

Both Yarders shrugged. That was their best guess.

*****

**Later, Sherlock and John have arrived at the Tower and they are watching the recorded security footage taken from behind Jim as he sticks the gum onto the glass. From a distance, it’s not clear what he then pushes into the gum.**

**LESTRADE: That glass is tougher than anything.**

**SHERLOCK: Not tougher than crystallized carbon. He used a diamond.**

**Greg adjusts the footage, which shifts to a recording taken from the other side of the glass. The footage also goes into reverse, showing the glass rising back up into place before it shattered. As Jim pulls back the fire extinguisher again and the glass becomes whole, the message which he scrawled onto it becomes clear. He deliberately wrote the words backwards on the glass so that they would be seen from the camera on the other side of the case. With the smiley face inside the “O,” the message reads:**

*****

**GET**

**SHERLOCK**

*****

**John turns and stares at Sherlock but his eyes are fixed on the screen.**

“What was going on inside his head?” Anderson pondered as he stared at the screen

*****

**Nina Simone’s song “Sinnerman” plays over the next few scenes.**

**The “Daily Express” has somehow obtained the security image with the message clear on the glass, and has run it on its front page with the headline: “Crime of the Century?”**

**Some indeterminate time later a new front-page headline reads: “Jewel Thief on trial at Bailey”.**

**“The Guardian” leads with the headline “Amateur detective to be called as expert witness” and the strapline “Scotland Yard calls upon ‘nation’s favourite detective’ in Moriarty trial”.**

Anderson was aghast. “I wasn’t even aware that there _were_ that many articles about him!”

*****

**221B. John is standing in front of the mirror in the living room. He is wearing a suit and finishes tying his tie before putting on his jacket. Near the sofa, Sherlock is buttoning up his own jacket while watching John’s reflection. Your transcriber bites her lip while her imagination goes to its happy place. Sherlock leads the way downstairs and goes to the front door, then stops and turns to the side to allow John to pass him and reach out towards the door.**

**JOHN: Ready?**

**SHERLOCK: Yes.**

**Bracing himself, John opens the door. Police officers are trying to hold back the large crowd of journalists who immediately start photographing the pair and calling out questions as the police clear the way and allow the boys through to the waiting police car. John points Sherlock towards the nearest rear door of the car.**

“Kind of difficult to operate when you’re famous, hmm?” Sally asked, raising an eyebrow at the countless articles flashing across the screen and then the countless reporters all trying to get to the man she had once loathed with her entire being (she wasn’t so sure how she felt, now).

**JOHN: Get in.**

**As Sherlock does as instructed, John goes around the back and gets in the other side and the car pulls away and races off with its sirens wailing.**

**At the Old Bailey, Jim is in a cell wearing a smart light grey suit, white shirt and pale grey tie and silver tie pin with a matching grey handkerchief in the breast pocket. A prison guard is checking the handcuffs which shackle him to two nearby officers. Not long afterwards and surrounded by prison officers, he is being escorted along the corridors towards the court. As he walks along, a small smile begins to creep onto his face.**

“Well… _that’s_ not concerning at all…” Sally muttered.

“Of course it is! That’s _very_ concerning!” Anderson responded.

Sally just exhaled like she was trying to rid herself of all the stupid. Sadly, it didn’t work. “It’s called sarcasm…”

**The police car is just going around Trafalgar Square.**

**JOHN: Remember...**

**SHERLOCK (instantly): Yes.**

**JOHN (insistently): Remember...**

**SHERLOCK (even more quickly): Yes.**

Lestrade chuckled. “He’s not actually listening, is he, John?”

John scowled. “For all the good I did to prevent him from causing a ruckus…”

**John looks away in frustration, then goes for broke and speaks quickly.**

**JOHN: Remember what they told you: don’t try to be clever...**

**SHERLOCK (talking over him): No.**

**JOHN: ...and please, just keep it simple and brief.**

**SHERLOCK: God forbid the star witness at the trial should come across as intelligent.**

**JOHN: ‘Intelligent,’ fine; let’s give ‘smart-arse’ a wide berth.**

**There’s a slight pause.**

**SHERLOCK: I’ll just be myself.**

**JOHN (irritated): Are you listening to me?**

“Does anyone else feel like Sherlock is doing this on purpose just to mess with John?” Molly asked. She still wasn’t sure, herself.

**At the Old Bailey Jim is marched up the stairs into the courtroom, two prison officers holding him by the shoulders. Outside, TV reporters are talking into various cameras as they record pieces for the news programmes.**

**ITN REPORTER: ...here today standing outside...**

**SKY NEWS REPORTER: ... This is the trial of the century...**

**BBC NEWS REPORTER: ...the trial of James Moriarty...**

**We see brief clips of their broadcasts as seen on television.**

**SKY NEWS REPORTER: ...James Moriarty, earlier today accused of attempt...**

**ITN REPORTER: ...of attempting to steal the Crown Jewels ...**

**BBC NEWS REPORTER: ...at the Old Bailey we have Reichenbach Hero Sherlock Holmes...**

**Jim and his prison escort reach the top of the stairs and he is turned sideways and walked into the dock. As a female prison officer comes across to check his restraints, he turns his head and murmurs into her ear.**

**JIM: Would you mind slipping your hand into my pocket?**

**The officer looks at one of her male colleagues, who nods in agreement. Looking rather uncomfortable, she slides her fingers into Jim’s trouser pocket and pulls out the contents while Jim breathes very close to her face and gazes into her eyes before poking out his tongue. She puts what she has found in his pocket – a piece of chewing gum – onto his tongue and he draws his tongue back in and begins to chew, smiling at her creepily.**

“That seems against protocol…” Molly said, scowling at the man. She still hadn’t forgiven him, especially since he’d just been using her to get to Sherlock, but that scene sent shivers down her spine.

**JIM: Thanks.**

*****

**Sherlock is in the toilets at the Old Bailey washing his hands.**

**TANNOY ANNOUNCEMENT: Crown versus Moriarty – please proceed to Court Ten.**

**As he turns off the taps, a woman standing behind him and wearing a deerstalker hat stares at him in awestruck amazement. Her bag slips out of her fingers and drops to the floor.**

“This is going to be good,” Sally remarked with a subtle grin. As far as they could see, this was the first time Sherlock has had to interact with a crazy fangirl. She expected him to be just as much the rude narcissist as he always was.

**KITTY: You’re him.**

**Sherlock sees that she’s also wearing an “I (heart) Sherlock” badge on her jacket.**

**SHERLOCK: Wrong toilet.**

**KITTY: I’m a big fan.**

**SHERLOCK (turning towards her): Evidently.**

**KITTY: I read your cases; follow them all. (She steps closer, gazing at him adoringly.) Sign my shirt, would you?**

**She peels back her jacket to reveal that her blouse is opened quite low and she is showing a lot of cleavage. She offers him a pen which she already has in her hand.**

Sally scoffed. “How’s he supposed to do that with your shirt hanging down so low? She probably followed him into that toilet on purpose.” She scowled more fully at the screen. “Never mind. There’s _no doubt_ that she followed him in there on purpose.”

“That’s really creepy…” Anderson said.

**SHERLOCK: There are two types of fans.**

**KITTY: Oh?**

**SHERLOCK: “Catch me before I kill again” – Type A ...**

Lestrade laughed. “Moriarty is a type all by himself… He defined it, anyway.”

**KITTY: Uh-huh. What’s Type B?**

**SHERLOCK: “Your bedroom’s just a taxi ride away.”**

**Kitty grins, her eyes still locked on his.**

**KITTY: Guess which one I am.**

**Sherlock runs his eyes down her body and does a speed deduction:**

*****

**pressure marks**

**pocket**

**ink**

*****

**SHERLOCK: Neither.**

**KITTY (blinking a little nervously): Really?**

**SHERLOCK: No. You’re not a fan at all.**

“She’s just another reporter trying to get a scandal scoop on Sherlock while he’s famous,” John elaborated for Anderson, who’d sent him a questioning look. The latter nodded deeply like he’d known all along.

**He looks at the indentations in her skin just below her right wrist.**

**SHERLOCK: Those marks on your forearm: edge of a desk. You’ve been typing in a hurry, probably. Pressure on; facing a deadline.**

**KITTY (looking away): That all?**

**SHERLOCK: And there’s a smudge of ink on your wrist; and a bulge in your left jacket pocket.**

**He and Kitty look down to her pocket from which is protruding the edge of a Dictaphone, which has a red light shining on it showing that it’s recording.**

**KITTY: Bit of a giveaway.**

**SHERLOCK: The smudge is deliberate, to see if I’m as good as they say I am.**

**He lifts her hand and sniffs the ink on her wrist.**

**SHERLOCK: Hmm. Oil-based, used in newspaper print, but drawn on with an index finger: your finger.**

**KITTY: Hmm!**

**SHERLOCK: Journalist. Unlikely you’d get your hands dirty at the press. You put that there to test me.**

**KITTY: Wow, I’m liking you!**

**SHERLOCK: You mean I’d make a great feature: “Sherlock Holmes – the man beneath the hat.”**

**KITTY: Kitty... (she takes off the hat) ...Riley. Pleased to meet you.**

**She offers her hand for him to shake.**

Molly growled.

“Don’t worry, dear. Sherlock wouldn’t possibly be interested in that tramp,” Mrs. Hudson assured her.

Molly turned to her, a little surprised. “Um…no… She was the one that wrote that article about Sherlock being a fraud. She works for Moriarty.”

Everyone’s eyes widened.

“That’s right!” Lestrade said, alarmed.

**SHERLOCK: No. I’m just saving you the trouble of asking. No, I won’t give you an interview; no, I don’t want the money.**

**Pushing past her, he heads for the door. She chases after him.**

**KITTY: You and John Watson – just platonic? Can I put you down for a “no” there, as well?**

John let his face fall into his hands. “Gods, even the presses?”

“What? You don’t read the gossip columns?” Lestrade asked with a laugh.

“Of course not!”

“Was she just trying to blackmail Sherlock, though?” Sally asked. She may not like Sherlock, but to threaten him was taking it to another level. With all the information Sherlock had on hr and Anderson – and the rest of the police department for that matter – he could’ve ruined each and every one of their lives, but after watching these episodes, she’d realized that he only used that information when they were together when they were having a spat. He’d used those insults one-on-one, never speaking of them outside those arguments. For that, he at least deserved not to have lies spread about him by some low-life reporter.

Sally caught herself. Was she starting to care about the detective?

_No!_

He was still a supercilious jerk!

**She stops him from opening the door and gets in his way, stepping well into his personal space. He breathes loudly and angrily.**

**KITTY: There’s all sorts of gossip in the press about you. Sooner or later you’re gonna need someone on your side...**

**Reaching into her pocket, she holds up her business card and then tucks it into his breast pocket.**

**KITTY: ...someone to set the record straight.**

**SHERLOCK (smiling sarcastically): And you think you’re the girl for that job, do you?**

**KITTY: I’m smart, and you can trust me, totally.**

Lestrade just laughed lowly into his shirt collar. “Don’t call yourself smart around Sherlock Holmes unless you want him to rip you open…”

**SHERLOCK: Smart, okay: investigative journalist. Good. Well, look at me and tell me what you see.**

**She stares at him blankly, perhaps a little overwhelmed by the way he is swaying gently in front of her.**

“God, he’s like a cobra, waiting to strike,” Sally whispered.

**SHERLOCK: If you’re that skilful, you don’t need an interview. You can just read what you need.**

“She’s losing her confidence. Obviously, she’s not as smart as she says.” Mycroft took great pleasure in watching his younger brother strike back against the woman who was threatening him.

**She looks awkward and can’t continue to meet his eyes.**

**SHERLOCK: No? Okay, my turn.**

Sharp intakes of breath filled the room. For once, _everyone_ there was anticipating seeing Sherlock use his brain to cut someone down.

**He paces around her and looks her over.**

**SHERLOCK (quick fire): I look at you and I see someone who’s still waiting for their first big scoop so that their editor will notice them. You’re wearing an expensive skirt, but it’s been re-hemmed twice; only posh skirt you’ve got. And your nails: you can’t afford to do them that often. I see someone who’s hungry. I don’t see smart, and I definitely don’t see trustworthy, but I’ll give you a quote if you like – three little words.**

**He reaches down and takes the Dictaphone from her pocket, holding it up to his mouth as she steps closer hopefully.**

**SHERLOCK (slowly, deliberately): You...repel...me.**

**He turns and leaves the room.**

John winced. “That wasn’t very smart, Sherlock…”

*****

**OLD BAILEY, COURT TEN. Sherlock has been called to give his evidence and is standing in the witness box. Jim is in the dock opposite him, nonchalantly chewing on his gum. John is sitting in the public gallery upstairs.**

**PROSECUTING BARRISTER: A “consulting criminal.”**

**SHERLOCK: Yes.**

**PROSECUTING BARRISTER: Your words. Can you expand on that answer?**

**SHERLOCK: James Moriarty is for hire.**

**PROSECUTING BARRISTER: A tradesman?**

**SHERLOCK: Yes.**

**PROSECUTING BARRISTER: But not the sort who’d fix your heating.**

**SHERLOCK: No, the sort who’d plant a bomb or stage an assassination, but I’m sure he’d make a pretty decent job of your boiler.**

**There’s muffled laughter from some people in the court, and the prosecuting barrister tries to hide her smile.**

**PROSECUTING BARRISTER: Would you describe him as ...**

**SHERLOCK (interrupting): Leading.**

Even though he was there for the trial, John sighed, shaking his head. “He just can’t help himself, can he?” he asked under his breath to no one in particular.

**PROSECUTING BARRISTER: What?**

**SHERLOCK: Can’t do that. You’re leading the witness. (He looks towards the defending barrister.) He’ll object and the judge will uphold.**

**The judge looks exasperated – apparently, this isn’t the first time Sherlock has done this during his evidence.**

**JUDGE: Mr. Holmes.**

**SHERLOCK (to the prosecuting barrister): Ask me how. How would I describe him? What opinion have I formed of him? Do they not teach you this?**

**JUDGE: Mr. Holmes, we’re fine without your help.**

**Kitty comes into the public gallery. John looks around at her as she finds a seat.**

**PROSECUTING BARRISTER: How would you describe this man – his character?**

**SHERLOCK: First mistake. (He raises his eyes and locks his gaze onto Jim.) James Moriarty isn’t a man at all – he’s a spider; a spider at the centre of a web – a criminal web with a thousand threads and he knows precisely how each and every single one of them dances.**

**Jim almost imperceptibly nods his head as if approving of the description.**

“Don’t you find it just a little off-putting that Moriarty agrees with how Sherlock is describing him?” Molly asked.

**The prosecuting barrister clears her throat awkwardly.**

**PROSECUTING BARRISTER: And how long ...**

**SHERLOCK (closing his eyes in exasperation): No, no, don’t-don’t do that. That’s really not a good question.**

**JUDGE (angrily): Mr. Holmes.**

**SHERLOCK: How long have I known him? Not really your best line of enquiry. We met twice, five minutes in total. I pulled a gun; he tried to blow me up. (Sarcastically) I felt we had a special something.**

**Jim raises his eyebrows in an “ooh!” expression.**

**JUDGE: Miss Sorrel, are you seriously claiming this man is an expert, after knowing the accused for just five minutes?**

**SHERLOCK: Two minutes would have made me an expert. Five was ample.**

**JUDGE: Mr. Holmes, that’s a matter for the jury.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, really?**

**His eyes turn towards the jury box. John raises his hand to his head in an all-too recognizable “oh, shit, NO!” gesture. Sherlock turns the full force of his gaze onto the twelve people sitting in the jury box and has deduced all of them within a couple of seconds.**

Anderson grinned at the skills being shown off on screen, even though it still sent shivers down his back.

**SHERLOCK: One librarian; two teachers; two high-pressured jobs, probably the City.**

**He focuses on the woman at the far left of the front row. She has a notebook resting on the ledge in front of her and is writing in shorthand.**

**SHERLOCK: The foreman’s a medical secretary, trained abroad judging by her shorthand.**

**JUDGE: Mr. Holmes!**

**SHERLOCK (scanning rings on the jury members’ fingers): Seven are married and two are having an affair – with each other, it would seem! Oh, and they’ve just had tea and biscuits.**

**He turns to the judge.**

**SHERLOCK: Would you like to know who ate the wafer?**

“I’m surprised,” Mycroft said.

“By what?” Molly asked him.

Mycroft just chuckled, though it was the sort of laugh reserved for those who amused him with their inability to see what he saw. “I’m surprised my brother was able to hold back the way he did. He clearly saw much more than that.”

**JUDGE (angrily): Mr. Holmes. You’ve been called here to answer Miss Sorrel’s questions, not to give us a display of your intellectual prowess.**

**Sherlock takes a breath but can’t help looking up towards John and smiling a little at the acknowledgement of his ‘intellectual prowess.’ John stares at him sternly.**

**JUDGE: Keep your answers brief and to the point. Anything else will be treated as contempt.**

**Sherlock raises his eyes in a ‘We’re surrounded by idiots’ type way. Jim smiles slightly as if agreeing.**

Molly frowned. As much as she hated Jim, it was sort of sad for Sherlock that the only one he could relate to on the intellectual level was a known psychopath (who was, of course, now dead).

**JUDGE: Do you think you could survive for just a few minutes without showing off?**

“Probably not,” Lestrade muttered with an exasperated gasp.

**Sherlock pauses while he gives the question some thought, then opens his mouth and draws in a breath.**

*****

**Shortly afterwards, a prison officer marches Sherlock into one of the cells under the courts and shoves him inside, slamming the door shut behind him. A recess has apparently been called in the trial and so a little later two more officers walk Jim to the adjoining cell and lock him inside. As if sensing each other, the two men turn and look at the wall separating them. Jim’s expression slowly becomes murderous.**

*****

**Sometime later Sherlock is being released. While he signs for his personal property, John is standing beside him leaning back against the desk with his arms folded.**

**JOHN: What did I say? I said, “Don’t get clever.”**

**SHERLOCK: I can’t just turn it on and off like a tap.**

A few of the audience’s eyes widened. Did he really not have control over what he said? Perhaps they should’ve taken his previous words (ones that they assumed were insults) more literally. He’d said he envied John for not having his mind racing every second of every day, for being able to have “boring” thoughts. Was his brain constantly overwhelmed with his deductions to the point where he felt like he would explode?

If they really thought about it, would they have been able to dumb down their words enough for everyone around them with the same surging backwash of information rushing through their skulls?

**Taking the bag of items from the custody officer, he turns to John as they begin to walk away.**

**SHERLOCK: Well?**

**JOHN: Well what?**

**SHERLOCK: You were there for the whole thing, up in the gallery, start to finish.**

**JOHN: Like you said it would be. (Referring to Jim’s defending barrister) He sat on his backside, never even stirred.**

**SHERLOCK: Moriarty’s not mounting any defence.**

“That should have been clear enough by Moriarty’s obvious desire to be captured in the first place.” Mycroft rolled his eyes.

*****

**221B. The boys walk into the living room.**

**JOHN: Bank of England, Tower of London, Pentonville. Three of the most secure places in the country and six weeks ago Moriarty breaks in, no-one knows how or why.**

**He sits down in his armchair while Sherlock begins to pace.**

**JOHN: All we know is...**

**SHERLOCK: ...he ended up in custody.**

**He stops and turns to John. John takes a breath.**

**JOHN: Don’t do that.**

**SHERLOCK: Do what?**

“What is he doing?” Anderson whispered, only to be shushed.

**JOHN: The look.**

**SHERLOCK: Look?**

**JOHN: You’re doing the look again.**

**SHERLOCK: Well, I can’t see it, can I?**

**John points to the mirror above the fireplace as if Sherlock’s an idiot for not realizing it’s there. Sherlock turns his head and looks at his reflection.**

**SHERLOCK: It’s my face.**

“For however much Sherlock can see, he sure is blind, isn’t he?” Lestrade gave a laugh. “But we already knew that, didn’t we?”

**JOHN: Yes, and it’s doing a thing. You’re doing a “we both know what’s really going on here” face.**

**SHERLOCK: Well, we do.**

**JOHN: No. I don’t, which is why I find The Face so annoying.**

**SHERLOCK: If Moriarty wanted the Jewels, he’d have them. If he wanted those prisoners free, they’d be out on the streets. The only reason he’s still in a prison cell right now is because he chose to be there.**

**He starts to pace again.**

**SHERLOCK: Somehow this is part of his scheme.**

“God!” Anderson said. “It’s so strange to know what’s going on before Sherlock does! I just want to shout at him to figure it out already!”

“Kind of surreal, isn’t it?” Sally remarked. “We know where this case ends, but he’s still clueless.”

“This must be how he always felt around us – wanting to shout at us for being so blind to the truth…” Anderson looked down. His shoulders looked heavier. It was another bout of weight settling on his back, the guilt of knowing that he had a hand in the outcome of this case. He sighed, then looked up with an expression of determination. They knew how this would end, but after it was over, he vowed to be a better person because of Sherlock Holmes.

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	44. 2x3 Part 3 The Reichenbach Fall

“The next part shows the rest of the trial, right?” Molly asked.

“That would be the logical assumption, yes,” Mycroft answered.

“So that means we’ll find out exactly how he got let out as not guilty, then?”

“I’d be disappointed if we didn’t.”

“Good.” Molly’s face darkened.

**NEXT DAY (presumably, because there can’t be that many more witnesses for the prosecution). OLD BAILEY.**

Anderson ducked in his seat. “Does he know that the camera is there? He’s looking right at it! Wait! What if _he_ was the one who set up all of those cameras?” He devolved into rambling mumbles, working out a few conspiracy theories, and though his words were maddening, they held a bit of ground.

“What if it _was_ him?” Lestrade pondered. If it was true, he was all too worried about the true intentions behind them. Could they really be trusted?

Mycroft scoffed. “I sincerely doubt that even Moriarty has the kind of power and influence to record all of this footage and transport us here, seemingly with supernatural abilities.”

“If not him, then who?”

“I have yet to figure that out, but even at this point, Moriarty is not on the list of suspects,” Mycroft assured the DI.

**JUDGE: Mr. Crayhill, can we have your first witness?**

**The defending barrister rises to his feet.**

**DEFENDING BARRISTER: Your Honour, we’re not calling any witnesses.**

**There are cries of surprise around the court, and John – sitting in the public gallery – frowns in confusion.**

**JUDGE: I don’t follow. You’ve entered a plea of Not Guilty.**

**DEFENDING BARRISTER: Nevertheless, my client is offering no evidence. The defence rests.**

**He sits down. Jim purses his lips ruefully at the judge, then turns, looks up towards the public gallery and shrugs.**

“Oh. He wasn’t looking at the camera; he was looking at the judge!” Anderson declared.

*****

**THE FOLLOWING DAY (probably). Sherlock – who, like on the previous day, either chose to stay at home or more likely has been banned from the court – sits sideways on the sofa with his back against the arm nearest the window. Wearing his blue dressing gown over his clothes, he softly recites the only words that the judge can possibly say in his summing-up speech. His recitation is interspersed with the actual words from the judge, and frequently their lines overlap.**

**SHERLOCK/JUDGE: Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. James Moriarty stands accused of several counts of attempted burglary, crimes which – if he’s found guilty – will elicit a very long custodial sentence; and yet his legal team has chosen to offer no evidence whatsoever to support their plea. I find myself in the unusual position of recommending a verdict wholeheartedly. You must find him guilty.**

“He wasn’t there, how could he know that’s what the judge said?” Sally demanded, confused.

“It’s the only thing the judge could possibly say. My brother knows Moriarty, and he knows that judge from the few minutes he spent in that courtroom. Obviously, he’d be able to work out what the man was going to say.”

**Sherlock closes his eyes.**

**SHERLOCK (in a whisper): Guilty.**

**JUDGE: You must find him guilty.**

**The court adjourns at 10:42. At 10:50 John is sitting on a bench just outside the courtroom when the Clerk of the Court hurries out of a side room.**

**CLERK: They’re coming back.**

**John looks at his watch.**

**JOHN: That’s six minutes.**

“Actually, that’s eight minutes, John dear,” Mrs. Hudson said.

John sighed. “I was nervous, alright?”

**CLERK: Surprised it took them that long, to be honest. There’s a queue for the loo.**

**He hurries into the court. John stands up, takes a moment to brace himself and then follows. A few minutes later the Clerk rises to his feet in the courtroom and turns to face the jury.**

**CLERK: Have you reached a verdict on which you all agree?**

**One of the jury members lowers his head and shakes it in tiny despairing motions as the foreman gets to her feet and stares unhappily at the Clerk.**

Sally threw her hands into the air. “It’s so obvious that they’re being coerced! Can’t anyone see that?”

“Getting a bit invested in this case, are we, Donovan?” Lestrade teased.

Her whole face flushed down to her collarbone and she sank into her seat. “Of course not.”

*****

**At 221B, Sherlock’s phone begins to ring. His eyes snap open. Outside the court, John is hurrying along the pavement.**

**JOHN (into phone): Not Guilty. They found him Not Guilty. No defence and Moriarty’s walked free.**

**Sherlock lowers his phone.**

**JOHN (into phone): Sherlock. Are you listening? He’s out. You-you know he’ll be coming after you. Sher...**

**Sherlock switches off the phone and gets up off the sofa. In the kitchen he switches on the kettle and slams down a small tray beside it, putting a jug of milk, a sugar bowl, a teapot and two cups and saucers with teaspoons onto the tray.**

“What is he doing?” Sally asked.

“He’s making tea,” Anderson supplied unhelpfully.

“But he never makes tea,” Molly said softly, unsure.

**The kettle comes to the boil and switches off and Sherlock, now wearing a jacket in place of the dressing gown, makes the tea and takes the tray to the table beside John’s chair, then walks over to his own chair and picks up his violin and bow. As he begins to play Bach’s Sonata No. 1 in G minor, downstairs the front door is expertly lockpicked and pushed open. Jim’s easily recognizable shadow precedes him as he slowly walks along the hall and up the stairs.**

“Is that Moriarty?” Molly asked, worried.

“Who else would pick the lock?” Anderson whispered back.

Mrs. Hudson’s fingers dug into the fabric of her dress, fiddling nervously.

**Partway up, one of the stairs creaks noisily and Jim pauses for a moment, as does Sherlock’s playing.**

“It is Moriarty! He was making the tea for Moriarty?” Sally leapt back in her seat, whole body stiff. She had no idea how to react at all.

**A couple of seconds later Sherlock resumes from a few notes before where he stopped, and Jim starts to climb the stairs again. Sherlock, standing with his back to the living room door, keeps playing until Jim pushes open the door, then he stops but doesn’t yet turn around.**

**SHERLOCK: Most people knock. (He shrugs.) But then you’re not most people, I suppose.**

**He gestures over his shoulder with his bow towards the table.**

**SHERLOCK: Kettle’s just boiled.**

**Jim walks further into the room and bends to pick up an apple from the bowl on the coffee table.**

**JIM: Johann Sebastian would be appalled.**

“Why’s that?” Anderson whispered to himself.

**Tossing the apple and catching it, he looks around the living room as if searching for a seat.**

**JIM: May I?**

**SHERLOCK (turning to face him): Please.**

**He gestures with the end of his bow towards John’s chair. Jim immediately walks over to Sherlock’s chair and sits in that one instead. Sherlock looks slightly unnerved. Jim takes out a small penknife and starts to cut into the apple while Sherlock puts down the violin and begins to pour tea into the cups.**

“Did he know that that was Sherlock’s chair, or did he just sit there because Sherlock pointed to the other one?” Molly asked. She shifted her gaze to Mycroft and John, the only two in the room that might have an assumption as to what was going on.

John just shrugged. “Probably just sat there to bug him.”

**JIM: You know when he was on his death bed, Bach, he heard his son at the piano playing one of his pieces. The boy stopped before he got to the end ...**

**SHERLOCK: ...and the dying man jumped out of his bed, ran straight to the piano and finished it.**

**JIM: Couldn’t cope with an unfinished melody.**

**SHERLOCK: Neither can you. That’s why you’ve come.**

**JIM: But be honest: you’re just a tiny bit pleased.**

**SHERLOCK: What, with the verdict?**

**He picks up one of the teacups, adds a splash of milk and turns and offers the cup to Jim, who sits up straighter and takes it.**

**JIM: With me ... (softly) ... back on the streets. (He gazes up into Sherlock’s eyes, smiling.) Every fairy-tale needs a good old-fashioned villain.**

“They’re so casual. Is this how they normally interact?” Sally turned to John.

John crossed his arms. “You’ve seen all of their interactions up until this point. You tell me.”

Still, Sally wasn’t sure what to think. There was no one else around them, so why keep up the act if Moriarty was truly only working for Sherlock as a fake villain? There was no logic to it at all. Perhaps – and she loathed to admit it because then she’d have to live with the guilt until her deathbed – perhaps she had been wrong?

**He grins. Sherlock turns away and adds milk to his own cup.**

**JIM: You need me, or you’re nothing. Because we’re just alike, you and I – except you’re boring.**

“Suddenly I feel a lot more okay with Sherlock calling me boring,” Anderson squeaked. He would be lying if he said that the way Moriarty was acting wasn’t putting him on edge. The man was just so…calm, sitting in Sherlock’s living room and drinking tea with him after trying to kill him – and all of the other general evils he’s committed. How could Sherlock stay so calm as well?

**He shakes his head in disappointment.**

**JIM: You’re on the side of the angels.**

**He sips his tea as Sherlock picks up his own cup and stirs his drink.**

**SHERLOCK: Got to the jury, of course.**

**JIM: I got into the Tower of London; you think I can’t worm my way into twelve hotel rooms?**

Lestrade sighed deeply.

**SHERLOCK: Cable network.**

**Flashback to the foreman of the jury in her hotel room sitting on the side of the bed and looking at her TV screen.**

**JIM (voiceover): Every hotel bedroom has a personalized TV screen...**

**Close-up of the TV screen showing the Westhampton Hotel’s Information Service. At the top of the page, the message reads “Hello Ms. Williams”. The information underneath instantly changes to a photograph of two young children and a baby. A message in red above the photograph reads, “IF YOU WANT YOUR BEAUTIFUL CHILDREN TO STAY BEAUTIFUL THEN FOLLOW MY INSTRUCTIONS”.**

**JIM (voiceover): ...and every person has their pressure point; someone that they want to protect from harm.**

**The foreman stares at the TV screen in horror. At 221B, Jim lifts his teacup to his mouth again.**

**JIM (softly): Easy-peasy.**

**By now Sherlock has unbuttoned his jacket and sat down in John’s chair. In a perhaps unconscious mimicking of the man seated opposite him, he too has his cup lifted close to his mouth.**

**SHERLOCK: So how’re you going to do it?**

**He pointedly blows gently on his tea.**

**SHERLOCK: Burn me?**

“He’s asking?” Sally questioned. “Can’t he just read what he needs to know?”

John shook his head. “It’s not that simple. Moriarty is one of the few people that Sherlock can’t read.”

“Anyone would’ve thought that you’d have realized that by now,” Molly snarked.

**JIM (softly): Oh, that’s the problem – the final problem. Have you worked out what it is yet?**

**Sherlock has taken a sip of his tea and looks across his cup to the other man.**

**JIM: What’s the final problem?**

**He smiles across his own cup.**

**JIM: I did tell you ... (singsong but still softly) ...but did you listen?**

**He takes another sip of tea and then puts the cup down into the saucer. Putting his hand onto his knee, he starts idly drumming his fingers. Sherlock’s eyes lower to watch the movement.**

“That’s important!” Anderson declared. “The camera focused in on that, so it _must_ be important!”

Lestrade chuckled. “Then again, with how this has been going. It could just be random. Could be not important at all and just something to throw us – and Sherlock – off. It wouldn’t be fun if it was that easy.” As much as it was helping, he hated how well he was getting to know Moriarty’s ticks and motives. If only he’d been able to read Sherlock that well back when he’d still been alive.

**JIM (still drumming his fingers): How hard do you find it, having to say “I don’t know”?**

**Sherlock puts his cup into its saucer and shrugs.**

**SHERLOCK (nonchalantly): I dunno.**

A few people laughed at Sherlock’s antics.

**JIM: Oh, that’s clever; that’s very clever; awfully clever.**

**He chuckles in an upper-class tone. Sherlock smiles humourlessly while putting his cup back onto the tray.**

**JIM: Speaking of clever, have you told your little friends yet?**

**SHERLOCK: Told them what?**

**JIM: Why I broke into all those places and never took anything.**

**SHERLOCK: No.**

**JIM: But you understand.**

**SHERLOCK: Obviously.**

**JIM: Off you go, then.**

**He has carved a piece off his apple and puts it into his mouth with the flat of his penknife.**

**SHERLOCK: You want me to tell you what you already know?**

**JIM: No; I want you to prove that you know it.**

Mycroft let out a low hiss, almost incomprehensible. He, of all people, knew how much Sherlock hated it when he had to _prove_ that he knew something. And yet, he knew more than anyone how much Sherlock _loved_ it, loved being able to show how smart he was. Perhaps that was why he’d had such a strange relationship with Moriarty because they were able to dance around each other, play games of wit and wisdom even though one of them was a lunatic and the other just a lonely little boy looking to show off his smarts.

Lestrade cast a side glance at him, not even turning his head, but otherwise didn’t react.

**SHERLOCK: You didn’t take anything because you don’t need to.**

**JIM (softly): Good.**

**SHERLOCK: You’ll never need to take anything ever again.**

**JIM: Very good. Because...?**

**SHERLOCK: Because nothing...nothing in the Bank of England, the Tower of London or Pentonville Prison could possibly match the value of the key that could get you into all three.**

Everyone in the room inhaled sharply, especially the three police officers.

**JIM: I can open any door anywhere with a few tiny lines of computer code. No such thing as a private bank account now – they’re all mine. No such thing as secrecy – I own secrecy. Nuclear codes – I could blow up NATO in alphabetical order. In a world with locked rooms, the man with the key is king; and honey, you should see me in a crown.**

**He smiles in delight at Sherlock.**

John scoffed.

“We’ve seen it. It’s not too impressive,” Lestrade remarked.

“Did he just call Sherlock _honey_?” Anderson whispered loudly, eyes wide.

“No, you idiot! He was just quoting a line from somewhere, probably!” Sally smacked him over the head.

**SHERLOCK: You were advertising all the way through the trial. You were showing the world what you can do.**

**JIM: And you were helping. Big client list: rogue governments, intelligence communities... Terrorist cells. They all want me.**

**He lifts another piece of apple to his mouth with the penknife.**

**JIM: Suddenly, I’m Mr. Sex.**

**SHERLOCK: If you could break any bank, what do you care about the highest bidder?**

**JIM: I don’t. I just like to watch them all competing. “Daddy loves me the best!” Aren’t ordinary people adorable? Well, you know. You’ve got John. I should get myself a live-in one.**

“Adorable? Like puppies? Is that all we are – because they’re _so much higher_ than all of us regular people down here?” Sally was outraged, and for once, it wasn’t at Sherlock. It was at Moriarty, that horrid, unbelievable man who couldn’t possibly be just an act. No one could play a part so well, especially when no part needed to be played!

**SHERLOCK: Why are you doing all of this?**

**JIM (still thinking about having a live-in ordinary person): It’d be so funny.**

**SHERLOCK: You don’t want money or power – not really.**

**Jim digs the point of his penknife into the apple.**

**SHERLOCK: What is it all for?**

**JIM (sitting forward and speaking softly): I want to solve the problem – our problem; the final problem.**

**He lowers his head.**

**JIM: It’s gonna start very soon, Sherlock: the fall.**

Everyone flinched.

**In a cut-away moment, he raises his head and whistles a slowly descending note while simultaneously lowering his gaze towards the floor.**

**JIM: But don’t be scared. Falling’s just like flying, except there’s a more permanent destination.**

**In the cut-away, his gaze reaches the floor and he makes the sound of something thudding to the ground. Raising his head slowly, he glowers across at Sherlock, who bares his teeth slightly and then stands and buttons his jacket.**

**SHERLOCK: Never liked riddles.**

**Jim stands as well and straightens his jacket, locking his gaze onto Sherlock’s eyes.**

**JIM: Learn to. Because I owe you a fall, Sherlock. I…owe…you.**

**He continues to gaze at Sherlock for about six seconds, sealing his promise, then slowly turns and walks away. Sherlock doesn’t move as Jim leaves the room, but after a while, he moves towards the apple which Jim left on the arm of his chair with the penknife still stuck in it. He picks it up by the knife handle and looks at it. Jim has dug a large circular piece out of the apple, and on the left of the circle he has carved an “I” shape while on the right of the circle is a “U” shape, forming the letters “I O U”. Sherlock’s mouth twitches into the beginning of a smile.**

“And yet he still thinks it’s fun!” Molly almost wailed. She knew – she _knew_ – that Sherlock wasn’t dead, not really, but she still hated how Moriarty had ruined his life.

*****

**The next morning the “Daily Express” front-page headline screams “MORIARTY WALKS FREE” with the strapline “Shock verdict at Old Bailey trial”. “The Guardian” declares “Shock verdict at trial”. The “Daily Star” goes with “How was he ever acquitted”.**

*****

**Sometime later “The Guardian” declares “Moriarty vanishes” while on one of its inside pages is a cartoon caricature of Sherlock holding a crystal ball with the caption underneath reading, “What Next for the Reichenbach Hero?”**

*****

**TWO MONTHS LATER.**

**John goes to a NatWest cashpoint machine and inserts his card. Typing in his PIN, he then selects a transaction. After a few seconds he is greeted with the onscreen message:**

*****

**There is a problem with**

**your card**

**Please wait**

*****

**John grimaces and a second later a new message appears:**

*****

**Thank you for**

**your patience.**

*****

**A moment later the message adds:**

*****

**John**

*****

Everyone turned to stare at Mycroft. Lestrade raised his eyebrow, a silent question on his face. _Was that really necessary?_ He didn’t even have to wait for Mycroft’s answer to know that _yes, yes it was._

**John frowns and behind him a black car pulls up to the curb and stops. John turns and looks at it, then turns back to the ATM, sighing in exasperation. However, he still hasn’t learned his lesson about getting into strange cars and apparently meekly gets in and allows himself to be driven to an elegant white painted building which has a brass plaque outside declaring the venue to be THE DIOGENES CLUB. He goes inside and enters a large room which – back when the building used to be a house – was probably a drawing-room. A large marble fireplace surrounds an unlit fire and the walls have heavy wooden panelling and ornate white plaster coving. The room contains five small round tables, each with a single armchair beside it, and four of the chairs are currently occupied by smartly dressed middle-aged or elderly gentlemen reading newspapers and taking no notice of each other or of the new arrival. John looks around and then walks over to one of the older men sitting at the far end of the room.**

**JOHN: Er, excuse me. Um, I’m looking for Mycroft Holmes.**

**The old man’s face becomes appalled, but he doesn’t look up.**

**JOHN: Would you happen to know if he’s around at all?**

**Some of the other inhabitants of the room behind John look round at him but don’t speak.**

**JOHN: Can you not hear me?**

**The old man looks up at him, huffing indignantly. John holds out a placatory hand to him.**

**JOHN: Yes, all right.**

**He turns around to the others in the room.**

**JOHN: Anyone?**

**The others turn their faces away from him.**

**JOHN: Anyone at all know where Mycroft Holmes is? I’ve been asked to meet him here.**

**The old man lifts his walking stick and pushes the end of it repeatedly onto a button on the nearby wall. A distant bell rings. John looks around in confusion while the gentlemen either ignore him or look at him in annoyance.**

**JOHN: No takers? Right. (He raises his voice.) Am I invisible? Can you actually see me?**

**Just then two men wearing dress coats walk into the room. John turns to them.**

**JOHN: Ah, thanks, gents.**

**Behind him, the elderly gentleman flaps his hand frantically at the new arrivals as if to say, ‘Get him out of here!’ The dress coated men, wearing white gloves and soft white overshoes to muffle their footsteps, walk briskly over to John.**

**JOHN: I’ve been asked to meet Mycroft Holm...**

**He breaks off as the men walk either side of him and firmly seize his arms.**

**JOHN: What the...? Hey!**

**As they almost lift him off his feet, one of them puts his other hand over John’s mouth to silence him. His muffled protests continue while they rapidly bundle him out of the room.**

Other than Lestrade sighing with his face in his hands, no one reacted to the obviously strange interaction between John and the old men.

“You really didn’t get the hint, John?” he asked.

*****

**Shortly afterwards John has been taken to a smaller room and the door has been closed firmly behind him. Mycroft is in the room with him and pours himself a drink from a crystal decanter.**

**MYCROFT: Tradition, John. Our traditions define us.**

**JOHN: So total silence is traditional, is it? You can’t even say, “Pass the sugar.”**

**MYCROFT: Three-quarters of the diplomatic service and half the government front bench all sharing one tea trolley. It’s for the best, believe me.**

**He smiles at John but then his face becomes grimmer as he walks towards a pair of armchairs in the middle of the room.**

**MYCROFT: They don’t want a repeat of 1972. But we can talk in here.**

**John walks to a small table and picks up a copy of “The Sun” which is lying on it. He brandishes it at Mycroft.**

**JOHN: You read this stuff?**

**MYCROFT: Caught my eye.**

**JOHN (sitting down in one of the armchairs): Mmm-hmm.**

**MYCROFT: Saturday: they’re doing a big exposé.**

**John reads the announcement at the top of the front page. The headline reads: “SHERLOCK: THE SHOCKING TRUTH” with the strapline “Close Friend Richard Brook Tells All”.**

Molly growled as she saw the picture. That snake would do anything for a scoop! Even drag someone else’s whole life through the mud. Her fingers clenched, wanting nothing more than to wrap around-

She stopped that thought.

**JOHN: I’d love to know where she got her information.**

**MYCROFT: Someone called Brook. Recognize the name?**

**John lowers the paper and shakes his head.**

**JOHN: School friend, maybe?**

**Mycroft laughs in a snide way.**

**MYCROFT: Of Sherlock’s? (He chuckles again.) But that’s not why I asked you here.**

**He walks to a side table and picks up several folders. Returning to John he gives him one of them. John opens the file and looks at the photograph on the top page.**

**JOHN: Who’s that?**

**MYCROFT: Don’t know him?**

**JOHN: No.**

**MYCROFT: Never seen his face before?**

**JOHN (looking at the photo again): Umm ...**

“You should really learn to read your surroundings better, John dear,” Mrs. Hudson advised. She chortled a little.

**MYCROFT: He’s taken a flat in Baker Street, two doors down from you.**

**JOHN: Hmm! I was thinking of doing a drinks thing for the neighbours.**

“Not a good idea; I see that now,” John muttered, wincing.

**He smiles sarcastically up at Mycroft who looks back at him straight-faced.**

**MYCROFT: Not sure you’ll want to. (He nods towards the folder.) Sulejmani. Albanian hit squad. Expertly trained killer living less than twenty feet from your front door.**

**JOHN: It’s a great location. Jubilee line’s handy.**

“Are you really not at all concerned that an assassin moved in next door to you?” Sally asked, slightly aghast.

John shrugged.

**MYCROFT: John...**

**JOHN: What’s it got to do with me?**

**MYCROFT (walking over and giving him another of the files): Dyachenko, Ludmila.**

**He sits down opposite John, who lets out a long, tired groan as he opens the file and looks at the photograph inside before frowning a little.**

**JOHN: Um, actually, I think I have seen her.**

“Don’t tell me that you fancied her, John, because that would go nowhere,” Lestrade said. “Nowhere good, anyways.”

**MYCROFT: Russian killer. She’s taken the flat opposite.**

**JOHN (now sounding a little nervous): Okay... I’m sensing a pattern here.**

**MYCROFT (handing him the rest of the files): In fact, four top international assassins relocate to within spitting distance of two hundred and twenty-one B. Anything you care to share with me?**

**Looking at the photographs of the other assassins, John chuckles, then looks up at Mycroft.**

**JOHN: I’m moving?**

“You hide your fear really well, John,” Anderson praised. He shifted in his chair. “Either that or you’re seriously not scared of those assassins right around the corner from your doorstep.”

“I dunno. He seems pretty scared to me,” Lestrade commented.

**Mycroft looks back at him unamused, then narrows his eyes.**

**MYCROFT: It’s not hard to guess the common denominator, is it?**

**JOHN: You think this is Moriarty?**

**MYCROFT: He promised Sherlock he’d come back.**

**JOHN: If this was Moriarty, we’d be dead already.**

**MYCROFT: If not Moriarty, then who?**

**JOHN: Why don’t you talk to Sherlock if you’re so concerned about him?**

**Mycroft looks away and toys with the glass on the table beside him. John rolls his eyes.**

**JOHN: Oh God, don’t tell me.**

**MYCROFT: Too much history between us, John. Old scores; resentments.**

Everyone sighed, even Sally and Anderson because after watching so much drama between the Holmes brothers, it felt only right.

**JOHN: Nicked all his Smurfs? Broke his Action Man?**

“Four killers on his doorstep and the thing stopping you is a childish sibling rivalry?” Molly rounded on Mycroft, almost spitting. “You’re supposed to be the _older_ brother! The more mature one!”

Eventually, she calmed down, but not before hissing out quite a few more insults at the man sitting calmly across from her.

**Mycroft glowers at him. John can’t help but laugh, then pulls himself together and puts the files onto the table beside him.**

**JOHN (in a whisper): Finished.**

**He stands up and turns to leave the room.**

**MYCROFT: We both know what’s coming, John.**

**John stops and turns back, clearly now struggling to control his anger.**

**MYCROFT: Moriarty is obsessed. He’s sworn to destroy his only rival.**

**JOHN (tightly): So you want me to watch out for your brother because he won’t accept your help.**

**MYCROFT: If it’s not too much trouble.**

**He directs a smile at John, but it quickly fades, and his expression becomes more threatening. John holds his gaze, then looks away, nods in a resigned way and turns to go to the door again. Opening it, he looks back at Mycroft once more, who still has the same look on his face, then leaves the room.**

“Can’t you boys put that behind you for once?” Mrs. Hudson mumbled in a disappointedly chiding tone.

“Probably never, seeing as his brother’s too dead to accept any apologies.” Lestrade’s tone was harsh, and though he flinched at his own words, his gaze didn’t waver on Mycroft. Being his superior or no, Sherlock was dead because of Mycroft’s mistakes. Mycroft had been the one to feed Sherlock’s life to Moriarty in exchange for information. Mycroft had been the one too caught up in a childish feud to protect his little brother. No matter how he looked at it, Lestrade could see an angle where Mycroft was clean of Sherlock’s blood, and he blamed the man as such.

Mycroft hid his emotions well and met the DI’s gaze with a similar intensity. “You’ll see it my way someday,” he murmured.

The screen was dark again, only giving the words, _“You’re getting closer to the truth…”_

Closer to what truth?

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	45. 2x3 Part 4 The Reichenbach Fall

John couldn’t get it out of his head. The truth? What truth? What else could he possibly know about his friend’s suicide? Moriarty had pushed him to the edge; the man who everyone assumed didn’t care about what others thought had been pushed to killing himself. And for what? Because his _secret fraud_ was exposed? Insight like that couldn’t be faked, no matter the person. He’d spent far too much time with that man for it all to have been fake.

Besides, these videos here were only further evidence that Sherlock wasn’t a fake. He was a genius. (And his lies from that rooftop never made any sense anyway. How could he have researched John beforehand if he hadn’t even known that Mike would run into him that day and he was looking for a flatmate? Either way, the calculations alone for that level of chance were through the roof.)

He just wished that Sherlock wasn’t dead.

It just…didn’t seem complete. Like Sherlock’s story shouldn’t have ended like that. Maybe…just maybe, when these videos were over, he’d find closure. He’d find that one missing puzzle piece and set it into place, and finally, it would all be over. Once and for all.

With that thought on his mind, John turned his attention to the screen as the cryptic message vanished and the next “episode” began.

**221B. A taxi drops John off opposite the flat. As he crosses the road, he can’t help but be aware of people passing by in the street, wondering if any of them are the assassins keeping an eye on the flat. When John reaches the front door – which is standing wide open – he sees that a brown envelope has been left on the doorstep. There is nothing written on the front, but the back has a large old-fashioned wax seal on it. He peels open one corner of the envelope and puts his finger in to slide it along the edge and slice the rest of the envelope open. Immediately a lot of brown dust, with some larger chunks of brown something, fall out. As he catches some of the debris and looks at it, a man’s Cockney voice speaks behind him.**

**MAN: ’Scuse, mate.**

**JOHN: Oh.**

**He steps aside as a heavily tattooed bald-headed man wearing jeans and a black vest carries a stepladder into the hallway. John follows him in, putting the envelope into his pocket as he goes. He trots upstairs and goes into the living room.**

“That was one of the assassins…” Sally whispered.

**JOHN: Sherlock, something weird...**

**He stops when he sees that Greg and Sally are in the room with Sherlock.**

**JOHN: What’s going on?**

**SHERLOCK: Kidnapping.**

It was then that Sally and Anderson really started to pay close attention, and not only because they knew they would both be on screen soon. It was because they’d read this next case a certain way…a way that could very well be completely wrong. They both hoped to not only learn the truth but to search for aspects of the case that could possibly excuse them for their misreading.

**He goes over to the dining table and sits down and starts to type on the laptop.**

**LESTRADE: Rufus Bruhl, the ambassador to the U.S.**

**JOHN: He’s in Washington, isn’t he?**

**LESTRADE: Not him – his children, Max and Claudette, age seven and nine.**

**Sally shows photographs of the two children to John.**

**LESTRADE: They’re at St Aldate’s.**

**DONOVAN: Posh boarding place down in Surrey.**

**LESTRADE (to Sherlock, who is still typing): The school broke up; all the other boarders went home – just a few kids remained, including those two.**

**DONOVAN: The kids have vanished.**

**LESTRADE: The ambassador’s asked for you personally.**

**Sherlock is already on his feet and heading out of the door with his coat over his arm.**

**DONOVAN (sarcastically): The Reichenbach Hero.**

**Sherlock hesitates momentarily but then continues on. After a second Greg follows him out.**

“Is that…a camera?” Molly whispered.

John shrugged. “Mycroft bugged the place all the time. Maybe it’s one of his.”

**LESTRADE: Isn’t it great to be working with a celebrity?**

**As John gestures for Sally to precede him out of the room, their actions are being watched by a camera high up on the living room wall near the left-hand front window.**

*****

**ST ALDATE’S SCHOOL. Greg’s car drives into the grounds of the boarding school and pulls up outside the front entrance. Two police cars are already there, and a woman is standing in front of one of them, leaning against the bonnet wearing a shock blanket around her shoulders and crying while a uniformed female police officer talks reassuringly to her. A man, probably a plain-clothed police officer, is also talking to her but walks away as Greg, Sally and the boys get out of the car and approach. The woman blows her nose on her handkerchief.**

**FEMALE POLICE OFFICER (comfortingly): It’s all right.**

**LESTRADE (quietly to Sherlock): Miss Mackenzie, House Mistress. Go easy.**

John scoffed. “We all know that Sherlock doesn’t _go easy_ ,” he muttered.

**He stays back and lets Sherlock walk over to the woman on his own.**

**SHERLOCK: Miss Mackenzie, you’re in charge of pupil welfare, yet you left this place wide open last night. (His voice rises angrily.) What are you: an idiot, a drunk or a criminal?**

**He grabs the blanket and abruptly pulls it from around her shoulders. She gasps in fear as he glares furiously at her.**

**SHERLOCK (loudly): Now quickly, tell me!**

**MISS MACKENZIE (tearfully and cringing in terror): All the doors and windows were properly bolted. No-one – not even me – went into their room last night. You have to believe me!**

Sally gasped, affronted. At least she wasn’t wrong about his insensitivity towards others! With everything else, she was getting less and less sure as time went on.

**Sherlock’s demeanour instantly changes, and he smiles reassuringly and gently takes hold of her shoulders.**

A few people’s eyes widened in amazement. He looked almost…genuine?

**SHERLOCK: I do. I just wanted you to speak quickly.**

**He looks at the nearby police officers as he turns and walks away.**

**SHERLOCK: Miss Mackenzie will need to breathe into a bag now.**

**She sobs in distress and the female police officer hurries over to comfort her.**

**Shortly afterwards, inside the school, Sherlock leads the others into one of the dormitories.**

**JOHN: Six grand a term, you’d expect them to keep the kids safe for you. You said the other kids had all left on their holidays?**

**Sherlock has already looked in a cupboard beside one of the beds and now drops to his knees and peers under the bed.**

**LESTRADE: They were the only two sleeping on this floor. Absolutely no sign of a break-in.**

**Sherlock picks up a lacrosse stick lying on the floor and gets to his feet while looking at the stick closely. He briefly wields it as if using it as a weapon but then apparently decides it wasn’t used in that way and drops it to the floor.**

**LESTRADE: The intruder must have been hidden inside some place.**

**Sherlock goes over to a wooden trunk and opens the lid. Amongst the other items inside the trunk, he finds a large brown envelope with a wax seal on the back which has already been broken as if someone has opened the envelope. Inside is a large hardback book. Carefully checking the envelope first, he then takes out the book and flips it over to look at the cover. The book is “Grimm’s Fairy Tales.” He looks along the edges of the book and then riffles the pages quickly. Finding nothing of interest, he looks up.**

“Does that envelope have the same seal as the letter you got earlier, John?” Molly asked. “What was in it? Sand?”

John shook his head. “Breadcrumbs.”

Molly's eyes widened. It was in that very second that she remembered the details of that case. Tears welled up in her eyes.

**SHERLOCK: Show me where the brother slept.**

**He is taken to another smaller dormitory and looks around, going to stand beside the only bed in the room which still has bedding on it. The bed is opposite the door, which has a frosted glass pane in it. He looks towards the door while gesturing down to the bed.**

**SHERLOCK: The boy sleeps there every night, gazing at the only light source outside in the corridor. He’d recognize every shape, every outline, the silhouette of everyone who came to the door.**

**LESTRADE: Okay, so...**

**SHERLOCK: So someone approaches the door who he doesn’t recognize, an intruder. Maybe he can even see the outline of a weapon.**

**Leaving the other three inside the room, he goes outside the door and pulls it almost closed, then raises his hand and points his fingers as if they’re a gun, showing the others how it would be seen through the frosted glass. He pushes the door open and comes back into the room.**

**SHERLOCK: What would he do in the precious few seconds before they came into the room? How would he use them if not to cry out?**

Sally remained silent as she watched Sherlock’s thought process. It was no different from when she’d actually been there, standing in the background of the shot with her arms folded. How could she have been so blind? Sherlock was literally mapping it all out in front of her! A clever little boy leaving a trail for them to follow – it was so obvious! Then again, watching this she already knew how it would play out.

**He walks around the bed, looking at the boy’s possessions.**

**SHERLOCK: This little boy; this particular little boy... (he looks at the bedside table and points towards it) ...who reads all of those spy books. What would he do?**

**JOHN: He’d leave a sign?**

**Sherlock starts sniffing noisily. He picks up a cricket bat leaning against the nearby cupboard and sniffs along both sides of it. Putting the bat down again he squats and sniffs around the bedside table, then reaches under the bed and picks up an almost empty glass bottle of linseed oil. He looks up.**

“What I could never figure out is how he could smell that!” Anderson gestured at the screen. “No one else could smell it!”

Molly frowned. “He’s a detective who takes most of his clues from not only sight but smell, taste, and his other senses. He’s trained himself to detect odours, you’d think. And…he was looking for it; no one else was.”

**SHERLOCK (sternly): Get Anderson.**

*****

**Not long afterwards the room has been darkened as much as possible by closing the wooden shutters over the windows. Sherlock shines an ultraviolet light onto the wall beside the boy’s bed where the words “HELP US” have been written on the wall, only now visible in the light.**

**SHERLOCK: Linseed oil.**

**ANDERSON: Not much use. Doesn’t lead us to the kidnapper.**

**SHERLOCK: Brilliant, Anderson.**

**ANDERSON: Really?**

**SHERLOCK: Yes. Brilliant impression of an idiot.**

Anderson looked down. He didn’t need to hear that yet again!

**He points downwards, shining the light close to the wooden floorboards.**

**SHERLOCK: The floor.**

**There are several sets of illuminated footprints of varying sizes leading towards the door. Sherlock slowly follows them.**

**JOHN: He made a trail for us!**

**SHERLOCK: The boy was made to walk ahead of them.**

**JOHN (looking at the shape of some of the smaller footprints): On, what, tiptoe?**

**SHERLOCK: Indicates anxiety; a gun held to his head.**

**He walks slowly out into the corridor, which has also been blacked out and follows the footsteps. Anderson walks beside him with another ultraviolet light.**

**SHERLOCK: The girl was pulled beside him, dragged sideways. He had his left arm cradled about her neck.**

**A few yards along the corridor the glowing footsteps stop.**

**ANDERSON: That’s the end of it. We don’t know where they went from here.**

**Sherlock stops. Anderson turns back to him.**

**ANDERSON: Tells us nothing after all.**

**SHERLOCK: You’re right, Anderson – nothing.**

**He pauses for a moment, then takes a breath.**

**SHERLOCK (quick fire): Except his shoe size, his height, his gait, his walking pace.**

Anderson grumbled.

**He reaches to the closest window and tears down the blackout material that had been stuck across it. Daylight floods back into the corridor. Putting the light onto the window sill, he kneels down and takes his wallet of tools and a small lidded plastic Petri dish from his inside pocket. While the police go back towards the bedroom, he puts the dish on the floor, opens the wallet and chuckles contentedly. John squats down beside him.**

**JOHN: Having fun?**

**SHERLOCK: Starting to.**

Molly turned to Sally. “See? And you thought he was the one who kidnapped those kids. Why would he be so happy about leading you right back to him? You saw _nothing_ without him being there, so why wouldn’t he just leave it at that?”

Sally spluttered. She hadn’t thought about that. She’d assumed that it was just maybe his sick sense of humour - that he _liked_ playing close to the edge, but that really didn’t make sense, did it? Why would he _lead_ them all by the hand through every case? On that case, they thought they’d had him. All the clues were there, laid out so plainly that _Anderson_ could connect them, but that was the point, wasn’t it? Sherlock – if he’d really done it – wouldn’t be so sloppy. That wasn’t his style. He wouldn’t have found that any fun at all.

It was a setup. And they’d walked right into it.

She sighed.

**JOHN: Maybe don’t do the smiling.**

**Sherlock lifts his head.**

**JOHN: Kidnapped children?**

**Sherlock lowers his head again and concentrates on scraping some of the dried linseed oil and floor wax loose with a small scalpel and then using tweezers to pick up the loosened pieces and put them into the container.**

*****

**LONDON. Sherlock and John are in a taxi.**

**JOHN: But how did he get past the CCTV? If all the doors were locked...**

**SHERLOCK: He walked in when they weren’t locked.**

**JOHN: But a stranger can’t just walk into a school like that.**

**SHERLOCK: Anyone can walk in anywhere if they pick the right moment. Yesterday – end of term, parents milling around, chauffeurs, staff. What’s one more stranger among that lot?**

**A flashback shows one of the school children outside the entrance being embraced by her mother. Other adults and children are all around, and one man walks alone up the steps towards the door.**

**SHERLOCK: He was waiting for them. All he had to do was find a place to hide.**

“And we would’ve noticed if Sherlock wasn’t around that whole time,” John muttered.

*****

**ST BARTHOLOMEW’S HOSPITAL. Molly Hooper walks along a corridor, pulling her coat on. Just as she reaches the fire doors at the end of the corridor, Sherlock and John walk through them.**

**SHERLOCK: Molly!**

**MOLLY: Oh, hello. I’m just going out.**

**SHERLOCK (putting his hands onto her shoulders and turning her back the way she just came): No you’re not.**

**MOLLY: I’ve got a lunch date.**

**SHERLOCK (putting a hand on her back to start her walking again): Cancel it. You’re having lunch with me.**

Lestrade barely concealed a grin. “ _Again_ with foiling Molly’s dating life. Someone might think he’s jealous!” he said.

Molly scowled. “He just wanted lab access…”

**Reaching into his coat pockets, he dramatically produces a bag of Quavers crisps from each pocket.**

**MOLLY: What?**

**SHERLOCK (putting the crisps back into his pockets): Need your help. It’s one of your old boyfriends – we’re trying to track him down. He’s been a bit naughty!**

**Reaching the fire doors at the other end of the corridor, he turns and smiles back at Molly, who has stopped dead a few paces back. John also stops and stares at him.**

**JOHN: It’s Moriarty?**

**SHERLOCK: Course it’s Moriarty.**

**MOLLY: Er, Jim actually wasn’t even my boyfriend. We went out three times. I ended it.**

Both Sally and Anderson rounded on Molly with aghast expressions. “You just _dumped_ the world’s most dangerous criminal and you’re not dead?” Anderson squeaked.

Molly shook her head helplessly. She hadn’t considered that.

**SHERLOCK: Yes, and then he stole the Crown Jewels, broke into the Bank of England and organized a prison break at Pentonville. For the sake of law and order, I suggest you avoid all future attempts at a relationship, Molly.**

“I told you!” Lestrade whispered. “He doesn’t want you to date. Why else would he say that?”

“To be rude? To keep me from leaving? I don’t know!”

Sally chuckled. “I just think John’s expression says it all,” she pointed out, gesturing to John’s questioning, warning look on the screen.

**Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out and brandishes a bag of Quavers at her again, then continues on through the fire door. She stares after him in utter bewilderment.**

*****

**Shortly afterwards, wearing her lab coat, she pushes her way through the door into Sherlock’s favourite lab weighed down by the huge pile of books and files she is carrying. As she staggers into the room, Sherlock is sitting at the bench in front of a microscope. John is standing at the other side of the bench.**

Mrs. Hudson was shaking her head. “Poor girl… He ropes you into everything, doesn’t he?”

“It’s ‘cause she’s head over heels in love with ‘im,” Sally snarked.

Molly blushed.

**SHERLOCK: Oil, John.**

**He opens the plastic Petri dish and takes out one of the samples with tweezers.**

**SHERLOCK: The oil in the kidnapper’s footprint – it’ll lead us to Moriarty.**

**He drops the sample into a test tube which has some liquid in the bottom. The fluid begins to fizz. He suctions up some of the liquid and drops it onto a slide.**

**SHERLOCK: All the chemical traces on his shoe have been preserved. The sole of the shoe is like a passport. If we’re lucky we can see everything that he’s been up to.**

**He looks at the slide under the microscope. Time passes and we see brief extracts of the work which he and Molly are doing. She puts on latex gloves.**

**SHERLOCK: I need that analysis.**

**Molly squeezes some liquid into a glass dish and applies some Litmus paper to it. The paper turns blue.**

**MOLLY: Alkaline.**

**SHERLOCK: Thank you, John.**

“At least he said _thank you_ ,” Anderson tried.

“But to John, when obviously it was Molly next to him. How could he even mistake their voices?” Sally asked.

Anderson shrugged. “He doesn’t pay attention to that?”

Sally scoffed. “Yeah, I noticed.”

**MOLLY: Molly.**

**SHERLOCK: Yes.**

**She turns away unhappily. Sherlock has found the first component in the mixture of items and makes a note of it:**

*****

  1. **Chalk**



*****

**He takes another sample and dissolves it. The results reveal another item:**

*****

  1. **Asphalt**



*****

**Dissolving another sample into a dish:**

*****

  1. **Brick Dust**



*****

**And another sample dissolved and heated over a Bunsen burner:**

*****

  1. **Vegetation**



*****

**Later, he has another sample on a slide and is looking at it in the microscope. He quietly murmurs to himself.**

**SHERLOCK (softly): I…owe…you.**

“Oh, dear… That Moriarty’s really gotten to him, hasn’t he?” Mrs. Hudson was fretting. She blew noisily into a handkerchief.

**He turns his head and looks at a nearby computer screen.**

**SHERLOCK: Glycerol molecule.**

**He sighs heavily as he struggles to identify the item, seeing it in his head as:**

*****

  1. **?????**



Sally’s eyebrows shot up. “Is that what it looks like when he doesn’t know something?”

“Guess so,” Lestrade mused.

*****

**SHERLOCK: What are you?**

**He looks into the microscope again as Molly stands beside him typing onto a laptop.**

**MOLLY: What did you mean, “I owe you”?**

**John walks across the lab on the other side of the bench. Sherlock raises his eyes from the microscope and watches him crossing the room.**

**MOLLY: You said, “I owe you.” You were muttering it while you were working.**

**SHERLOCK (looking into the ’scope again): Nothing. Mental note.**

**Molly looks at him.**

**MOLLY: You’re a bit like my dad. He’s dead.**

**She closes her eyes, embarrassed.**

Just then, everyone in the audience closed their eyes. How much longer until he dove off that roof? It seemed the clock was ticking down, now, getting ready to strike.

**MOLLY: No, sorry.**

**SHERLOCK: Molly, please don’t feel the need to make conversation. It’s really not your area.**

**Molly cringes but continues.**

**MOLLY: When he was…dying, he was always cheerful; he was lovely – except when he thought no-one could see. I saw him once. He looked sad.**

**SHERLOCK (sternly): Molly...**

Mycroft leaned back. He may not have spent much time with his brother, but he could at least pick up on some of Sherlock’s moods and tones. That was the tone he took when someone was getting to close to figuring _him_ out.

**MOLLY: You look sad... (she glances towards John) ...when you think he can’t see you.**

**Sherlock’s eyes lift from the microscope and drift towards John who is looking through papers on the other side of the lab some distance away, unaware of the conversation. Sherlock turns his head and looks at Molly.**

**MOLLY: Are you okay?**

Molly sighed. When was the last time someone had asked him that question and really wanted to hear the answer? They hadn’t seen it in the videos before, and if _their_ conversation was important enough to be shown, then _that_ should have been, too.

**He opens his mouth, but she interrupts before he can speak.**

**MOLLY: And don’t just say you are because I know what that means, looking sad when you think no-one can see you.**

“You knew that he knew he was going to die? Why didn’t you say anything?” Lestrade asked. John rounded on her, too, disarrayed in his disappointment.

Molly swallowed like there was a large lump in her throat. “I didn’t think it was mine to share. Sorry.”

**SHERLOCK: But you can see me.**

**MOLLY: I don’t count.**

**Sherlock blinks and really looks at her, possibly for the first time since he has known her.**

Everyone watched silently at this exchange, even Molly herself. It was so much deeper than she’d remembered. Perhaps that was because she was too afraid to read into something wrong that she hadn’t read him at all. As for the others, they were mostly just confused by what Molly meant. She didn’t count? What could that possibly mean?

Mycroft nodded sagely. His little brother had dismissed her for years without stopping to think about who she really was. He was also guilty of such a practice, but not to the point that Sherlock was with Molly. He’d dismissed the fact that she’d always helped whenever he asked, always offered her help on top of that, and he’d treated her like she didn’t matter. While he could usually read his brother like an open book, even he was having slight difficulty grasping why his brother acted the way he did toward Ms. Hooper.

**MOLLY: What I’m trying to say is that, if there’s anything I can do, anything you need, anything at all, you can have me.**

**She flinches and looks away briefly.**

**MOLLY: No, I just mean... I mean if there’s anything you need...**

**She shakes her head.**

**MOLLY: It’s fine.**

**She turns away. Sherlock looks shaken.**

**SHERLOCK: What-what-what could I need from you?**

He seemed so…genuinely confused.

**MOLLY (turning back to him): Nothing. (She shrugs.) I dunno. You could probably say thank you, actually.**

**She nods nervously but firmly. The side of Sherlock’s mouth twitches as if it doesn’t know how to say the words.**

**SHERLOCK (hesitantly): ...Thank you.**

**He frowns and turns his head away as if surprised that he has said it. Molly starts to walk towards the door.**

**MOLLY: I’m just gonna go and get some crisps. Do you want anything?**

**He starts to open his mouth, but she turns back and beats him to it.**

**MOLLY: It’s okay, I know you don’t.**

**SHERLOCK: Well, actually, maybe I’ll...**

**MOLLY: I know you don’t.**

**She turns and walks away, leaving the room. He watches her go, then gazes into the distance thoughtfully for a moment before looking back to his microscope.**

Anderson cackled with laughter. “It’s finally nice to see that expression on _his_ face for once! He looks like he had no idea what just happened!”

John shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t think anyone knows what just happened.”

**On the other side of the lab, ignorant of the conversation that has just taken place, John is looking through police photographs taken at the school. He finds one on the inside of the wooden trunk which shows the envelope with the wax seal, and another with a close-up of the seal.**

**JOHN: Sherlock.**

**SHERLOCK: Hmm?**

**JOHN: This envelope that was in her trunk. There’s another one.**

**He walks over to where he has put his jacket.**

**SHERLOCK: What?**

**JOHN: On our doorstep. Found it today.**

**He gets the envelope out of his pocket and looks at it.**

**JOHN: Yes, and look at that.**

**He brings the envelope round the bench and gives it to Sherlock.**

**JOHN: Look at that. Exactly the same seal.**

“You couldn’t have pointed this out earlier, John?” Sally asked, exasperated.

“I only pointed it out because I saw the photographs!”

“It’s not like you were _in the room with us_!”

“And I’m supposed to see every single detail like that? I’m not Sherlock!” He hesitates. “No one can ever be Sherlock.”

**Sherlock reaches into the envelope and takes out some of the brown dust which we now see more clearly.**

**SHERLOCK: Breadcrumbs.**

**JOHN: Uh-huh. It was there when I got back.**

**SHERLOCK: A little trace of breadcrumbs; hardback copy of fairy tales.**

**His eyes widen.**

**SHERLOCK: Two children led into the forest by a wicked father follow a little trail of breadcrumbs.**

**JOHN: That’s “Hansel and Gretel.” What sort of kidnapper leaves clues?**

**SHERLOCK: The sort that likes to boast; the sort that thinks it’s all a game. He sat in our flat and he said these exact words to me...**

**Jim’s voice overlays Sherlock’s as he relates the words.**

**SHERLOCK/JIM: All fairy tales need a good old-fashioned villain.**

Anderson’s eyes widened. “I thought that was just a throwaway line! He was leaving clues the whole time about his next crime! And it was over two months later!” he was really starting to think that he’d never be at their level. (But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t stop trying!)

**Sherlock puts down the envelope and adjusts his microscope before starting to look into it again.**

**SHERLOCK: The fifth substance: it’s part of the tale.**

**He looks up again.**

**SHERLOCK: The witch’s house.**

**JOHN: What?**

**In repeated cut-aways during the next few lines, the two kidnapped children are kneeling on a concrete floor somewhere, rapidly peeling the wrappers from sweets and eating them.**

**SHERLOCK: The glycerol molecule.**

**The final element in the sample becomes clear to him:**

*****

  1. **PGPR**



*****

**SHERLOCK: PGPR!**

**JOHN: What’s that?**

**SHERLOCK (leaping to his feet): It’s used in making chocolate.**

**He hurries out of the lab while, in the cut-away, the children continue to scarf the sweets on the floor. The camera pulls back to show that they are in what looks like an abandoned factory or warehouse.**

Mrs. Hudson looked equal parts scandalized and disgruntled. “Why are they eating all that candy? Didn’t their parents ever tell them not to take sweets from strangers?”

*****

**SCOTLAND YARD. Greg hands a sheet of paper to Sherlock as he leads him and John into the department’s main office.**

**LESTRADE: This fax arrived an hour ago.**

**There is a large handwritten note on the paper saying:**

*****

**HURRY UP**

**THEY’RE**

**DYING!**

*****

**Sherlock hands the note to John.**

**LESTRADE: What have you got for us?**

**SHERLOCK: Need to find a place in the city where all five of these things intersect.**

**He hands a piece of paper to Greg, who reads it aloud.**

**LESTRADE: Chalk, asphalt, brick dust, vegetation ... What the hell is this? Chocolate?**

**SHERLOCK: I think we’re looking for a disused sweet factory.**

Sally scowled. At the time, it had seemed like too far a stretch, but after seeing how Sherlock got there…he wasn’t just pulling the clues out of the air to make himself look clever. He was actually _solving_ it like he did with all of the other cases.

**LESTRADE: We need to narrow that down. A sweet factory with asphalt?**

**SHERLOCK: No. No-no-no. Too general. Need something more specific. Chalk; chalky clay – that’s a far thinner band of geology.**

**He calls up a map of London in his head, overlaying it with the names of the towns, then begins zooming in and out of various areas.**

Lestrade almost threw his head down in his hands. While he and Sally were scoffing over the list of things Sherlock had found in the boot print, Sherlock was already well on his way to finding the factory with only the power of his (brilliant!) mind.

**LESTRADE: Brick dust?**

**SHERLOCK: Building site. Bricks from the 1950s.**

**LESTRADE (rubbing his face in despair): There’s thousands of building sites in London.**

**Sherlock looks exasperated at the distraction.**

**SHERLOCK: I’ve got people out looking.**

**LESTRADE: So have I.**

**SHERLOCK: Homeless network – faster than the police. (He smiles snidely.) Far more relaxed about taking bribes.**

**Sitting at a nearby desk, Anderson looks up and rolls his eyes. Sherlock’s phone trills a text alert, followed by several more alerts. He brandishes his phone triumphantly at Greg while the messages continue to pour in. Smiling smugly, he lifts the phone up high and calls up his mental London map in front of him, flicking his eyes across to the phone to look at each photograph and then transfer it to the map. One of the photos, a close-up shot of some purple flowers, attracts his particular attention.**

**SHERLOCK: John.**

**He holds the phone out to show him the picture.**

**SHERLOCK: Rhododendron ponticum. It matches.**

**He goes back to the mental map and scans around it to the only places in London where such a plant grows, then finds the one place which contains the other elements as well.**

**SHERLOCK: Addlestone.**

**LESTRADE: What?**

Sally and Anderson both looked down, ashamed. He’d pulled up that name so quickly that they’d just assumed he made it up, that he already knew because _he_ was the one who’d taken the children. In fact, he’d figured it out, because of his brain. He was a genius, after all. It was still so surreal to see how fast his thought process could go, could map out all of London like that and remember every detail, but it was still possible. It just wasn’t something _she_ could do, and she’d judged him for it.

A new emotion flowered in Sally’s chest.

Guilt.

Sherlock may not have been the most caring, open, or considerate person in the world, but he’d solved cases when they grew too hard for her or anyone else in the New Scotland Yard to solve. He always got the job done. And what had she done? Helped a madman along in his plan to get Sherlock killed. Hoo-rah.

**SHERLOCK: There’s a mile of disused factories between the river and the park. It matches everything.**

**He turns and hurries out of the office with John in hot pursuit. Greg turns to his team.**

**LESTRADE: Right, come on.**

**Sally hesitates.**

**LESTRADE: Come on!**

**She jumps up and hurries after him.**

“I…” Sally hesitated as the screen went black yet again. She didn’t know what to say. What could she say? “I was wrong,” she whispered.

“Oh, sorry, what was that?” John glared at her. He cupped one of his ears. “Could you repeat that, please?”

“I said I was wrong!” she snapped. “I was wrong about him! I’m sorry.”

John wasn’t having it. “Yeah, well, sorry doesn’t bring him back, does it?”

“What more do you want me to say? That I’m exactly what Sherlock said I was? An idiot? Because I am! I couldn’t believe that anyone could solve things as quickly as he could! How could I know what was going on in his brain when he pulls clues out of thin air faster than it takes for us to boot up our computers?”

Lestrade sighed, looking down. “We worked with him, alongside him, for years. We all should’ve known. We should have trusted him completely.” He said _we_ , but everyone in the room could tell that he was blaming himself. He’d known Sherlock from the beginning, well, at least for a decent couple of years. He’d worked with him on case after case and he still doubted that man’s brilliant mind. He’d still let suspicion take root in his heart and sprout into a plant of mistrust…and it resulted in the death of his friend.

He couldn’t apologize for his mistake. He didn’t get a second chance to make things right.

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	46. 2x3 Part 5 The Reichenbach Fall

Even the air in the room was moody, so the next segment of footage played without interruption.

**ADDLESTONE. Several police cars race to a disused factory and the police officers, together with Sherlock and John, run inside the dark building. Everyone switches on flashlights and Sally coordinates the police as they start to search in all directions.**

**DONOVAN: You, look over there. Look everywhere. Okay, spread out, please. Spread out.**

Everyone held their breaths. Even though they knew how it would end, how the police would find the children, they were still tense. This whole case was way too tense.

**Greg leads another team, including Sherlock and John, into another part of the factory. Greg directs his officers.**

**LESTRADE (softly): Look in there. Quietly. Quietly.**

**As they make their way deeper into the factory, Sherlock finds a large number of empty sweet wrappers scattered on the floor around a candle on a plate. Sherlock touches the wick of the candle.**

**SHERLOCK: This was alight moments ago.**

**He calls out loudly.**

**SHERLOCK: They’re still here.**

**The search continues all around.**

**SHERLOCK: Sweet wrappers. What’s he been feeding you?**

**He picks up one of the wrappers and looks at it more closely.**

**SHERLOCK: Hansel and Gretel.**

**He holds the wrapper closer to the beam of his flashlight and sniffs the paper before touching the tip of his tongue to it and grimacing. He looks at the wrapper in startling realization of what he has just tasted.**

**SHERLOCK: Mercury.**

**LESTRADE: What?**

**SHERLOCK: The papers: they’re painted with mercury.**

**John groans.**

**SHERLOCK: Lethal. The more of the stuff they ate...**

**JOHN: It was killing them.**

**SHERLOCK: But it’s not enough to kill them on its own. Taken in large enough quantities, eventually, it would kill them.**

“But why would the children keep eating the candy?” Mrs. Hudson fretted. “Surely they would realize that it was bad for them if he gave it to them?”

“They’re still very young, Mrs. Hudson,” Lestrade said. “And they were missing for several hours. Their hunger would eventually get to them. If it was the only thing there…” he trailed off.

**The police continue searching the building, but Sherlock is now locked onto his thoughts about Moriarty.**

**SHERLOCK: He didn’t need to be there for the execution. Murder by remote control. He could be a thousand miles away.**

**Nearby, Sally sees something in the light of her torch. She moves closer and sees a little girl sitting on the ground with her brother’s head in her lap. His eyes are closed. The girl looks around at Sally.**

**SHERLOCK (softly, to himself): The hungrier they got, the more they ate...the faster they died.**

**He grins.**

**SHERLOCK: Neat.**

Everyone groaned in disapproval. Lestrade shook his head.

**JOHN (reprovingly): Sherlock.**

**DONOVAN (calling out): Over here!**

**Everyone runs in the direction of her voice. Sally and other officers reach down to the children.**

**DONOVAN: I’ve got you. Don’t worry.**

*****

**SCOTLAND YARD. Sherlock is pacing outside an office while John sits nearby. The door to the office opens and Sally and Greg come out.**

**DONOVAN (sarcastically to Sherlock): Right, then. The professionals have finished. If the amateurs wanna go in and have their turn...**

“Amateurs?” Molly asked, raising an eyebrow at Sally. “He was the one who found them. In fact, he’s been solving most of your cases for you, so how can _he_ be the amateur?” She growled at Sally.

Sally at least had the decency to look down in shame at her smug self’s actions on screen.

**John stands up and walks over to the others. Greg looks seriously at Sherlock.**

**LESTRADE: Now, remember, she’s in shock and she’s just seven years old, so anything you can do to...**

**SHERLOCK: ...not be myself.**

Lestrade winced.

**LESTRADE: Yeah. Might be helpful.**

**Sherlock looks round to John and, doing everything but roll his eyes, reaches up and un-pops the collar of his coat, folding it down flat before leading John and the others into the office. The little girl is sitting at a table looking down into her lap. A female liaison officer is sitting beside her stroking her arm reassuringly.**

**SHERLOCK: Claudette, I...**

**He gets no further because the girl lifts her head, takes one look at him and begins to scream in terror.**

Molly’s eyes widened before they narrowed. “That b******!” she cursed.

The others looked at her in alarm. They’d never heard her swear before. Had she ever sworn before? She always seemed so calm and collected.

“Moriarty had them kidnapped by someone who looked like Sherlock so that she would be terrified of him! That would just make the police think that _he_ kidnapped the kids!” She was too angry to think about what that meant for the future – how it led up to Sherlock’s death.

**SHERLOCK: No-no, I know it’s been hard for you...**

**She continues screaming and scrambles to get away while pointing at him.**

**SHERLOCK: Claudette, listen to me...**

**LESTRADE: Out. Get out!**

**Grabbing his arm, he bundles Sherlock out of the room as the girl’s screams continue.**

*****

**Shortly afterwards, Sherlock is standing at the window of another office looking out into the night through the slats of the Venetian blinds. Sally stands at the other side of the office watching him thoughtfully.**

Molly glared at Sally, who still wouldn’t tear her eyes away from the screen. She was pointedly ignoring everyone’s gaze, not willing to admit that she’d been wrong but still knowing that she had been. She had been so wrong about everything. How could she not have seen it before? If Sherlock had been the kidnapper, he wouldn’t have found the kids and then risked his secret by showing his face. If he was deceptive enough to commit the crime, he wouldn’t have been so sloppy as to incriminate himself in the middle of the police station! If she had any less self-control, she would be tearing her own hair out at her foolishness.

**JOHN: Makes no sense.**

**LESTRADE: The kid’s traumatized. Something about Sherlock reminds her of the kidnapper.**

**JOHN: So what’s she said?**

**DONOVAN: Hasn’t uttered another syllable.**

**JOHN: And the boy?**

**LESTRADE: No, he’s unconscious; still in intensive care.**

**In the building opposite Scotland Yard, all the lights in the offices come on. On the second floor, spray paint has been applied to three of the office windows. Sherlock stares at the enormous letters that have been painted:**

*****

**I O U**

“You guys didn’t see that?” Molly demanded.

“We were kind of busy, Molly…” John rubbed the back of his neck.

*****

**Seconds later, the lights on that floor go out again. Behind Sherlock, the others are unaware of what he has just seen, their view blocked by the blinds.**

**LESTRADE: Well, don’t let it get to you. I always feel like screaming when you walk into a room! In fact, so do most people.**

“Detective!” Mrs. Hudson scolded as Lestrade winced once again. He’d only been trying to cheer Sherlock up by teasing him – like he always did, but after seeing the sorrow flash across the other man’s face as he hid it by the window made him realize that it wasn’t the best choice of words. He’d never known Sherlock to be one with emotions, but these videos were proving him wrong in all sorts of ways. Too bad it was too late to put everything he’d learned into practice.

**He looks round to Sally and John.**

**LESTRADE: Come on.**

**He and John leave the room. Sally stays behind as Sherlock turns away from the window and walks towards the door.**

**DONOVAN: Brilliant work you did, finding those kids from just a footprint. It’s really amazing.**

**SHERLOCK: Thank you.**

**DONOVAN (pointedly): Unbelievable.**

Sally grumbled. “It’s actually pretty believable now that I’ve seen it.” She sighed. “I can admit when I’m wrong, and I was so, _so_ wrong about him.”

“Little too late for that, now, innit?” Lestrade asked.

**Sherlock hesitates momentarily, then continues on. She watches him go with a thoughtful expression.**

**Outside shortly afterwards, John waits for Sherlock to join him and then looks down the street.**

**JOHN: Ah.**

**He raises his hand to hail the approaching taxi. As the boys walk to the edge of the curb, John looks round to Sherlock.**

**JOHN: You okay?**

**SHERLOCK: Thinking.**

**The taxi pulls up at the curb.**

**SHERLOCK: This is my cab. You get the next one.**

**JOHN: Why?**

**SHERLOCK: You might talk.**

**He gets in and closes the door and the taxi pulls away. John stares after him in disbelief, then sighs.**

Despite the tenseness of the situation and the anger still seeping through her veins, Molly laughed lightly. “You think you’d be used to that by now, John.”

*****

**Back inside Scotland Yard, Sally is in a large office and has scattered all the police photographs and other evidence over a long table. She stands looking down at everything thoughtfully. Greg walks along the corridor outside and notices her. He stops and looks into the room as Sally mentally plays back earlier moments.**

**LESTRADE: What the hell is this? Chocolate?**

**SHERLOCK: I think we’re looking for a disused sweet factory.**

**Claudette screams in terror.**

**LESTRADE: Get out!**

**Now Greg comes into the room and walks over to Sally as Claudette’s screams fade from her mind.**

“So, not only do we hear Sherlock’s thoughts, but also mine?” Sally asked, confused.

“Like anyone would want to hear _your_ thoughts,” Molly grumbled. Her arms were crossed.

**LESTRADE: Problem?**

**She looks around at him, then down at the evidence again.**

*****

**TAXI. Sherlock sits in the back lost in thought. Partway into the journey, the TV screen on the back of the driver’s seat switches on and an advertisement starts to play. London Taxi Shopping is advertising jewellery.**

**VOICEOVER: This is a stunning evening wear set from us here at London Taxi Shopping.**

**SHERLOCK (to the driver): Can you turn this off, please?**

**The driver doesn’t respond, and the advert continues.**

**VOICEOVER: As you can see, the set comprises of a beautiful...**

**SHERLOCK (louder, angrily): Can you turn this off...**

**The image on the screen begins to fritz as if another channel is breaking through. There are momentary glimpses of someone who can only be Jim Moriarty grinning at the screen. Eventually, the advert disappears, and Jim is seen smiling cheerfully. Behind him is a pale blue wall with painted white fluffy clouds floating across it. Jim’s voice takes on a sing-song quality as if he is talking to children.**

**JIM: Hullo. Are you ready for the story? This is the story of Sir Boast-a-lot.**

**Sherlock stares at the screen, his face intense.**

Everyone’s eyes widened.

*****

**SCOTLAND YARD. Sally is showing Greg one of the photographs.**

**DONOVAN: The footprint. It’s all he has. A footprint.**

**LESTRADE: Yeah, well, you know what he’s like – CSI Baker Street.**

**DONOVAN: Well, our boys couldn’t have done it.**

**LESTRADE: Well, that’s why we need him. He’s better.**

**DONOVAN: That’s one explanation.**

**LESTRADE: And what’s the other?**

Everyone glared at Sally. Sure, she thought she was _so_ clever, putting together all of the clues that Moriarty laid out for her to find.

*****

**TAXI. Jim’s image continues to smile from the TV screen.**

**JIM: Sir Boast-a-lot was the bravest and cleverest knight at the Round Table, but soon the other knights began to grow tired of his stories about how brave he was and how many dragons he’d slain...**

**Behind him, the pale blue sky gets darker and the white clouds become grey and threatening.**

**JIM: And soon they began to wonder...**

**Behind him, rain begins to pour from the clouds.**

**JIM: ... ‘Are Sir Boast-a-lot’s stories even true?’**

“See? You’re all just playing right into his hands!” Molly gestured wildly at the screen.

All three Yarders looked down in shame, their heads hung low and their faces screwed up with guilt.

*****

**SCOTLAND YARD (offscreen).**

**DONOVAN (voiceover): Only he could have found that evidence.**

*****

**TAXI TV SCREEN. Jim sadly shakes his head.**

**JIM: Oh, no.**

*****

**SCOTLAND YARD.**

**DONOVAN: And then the girl screams her head off when she sees him – a man she has never seen before...unless she had seen him before.**

“God, you’re just eating it up, aren’t you?” John asked.

**LESTRADE: Wh-what’s your point?**

**DONOVAN: You know what my point is. You just don’t wanna think about it.**

**JIM (on the taxi TV screen): So one of the knights went to King Arthur and said... (in a dramatic whisper) ... ‘I don’t believe Sir Boast-a-lot’s stories. He’s just a big old liar who makes things up to make himself look good.’**

No one even wanted to point out that Lestrade was King Arthur in Moriarty’s story, nor the fact that he’d called Sally a “knight”. (Though those thoughts were for two different reasons.)

**At Scotland Yard, Anderson has now come in and he and Sally stand opposite Greg’s desk as he sits talking with them.**

**LESTRADE: You’re not seriously suggesting he’s involved, are you?**

“Good to know that you believed in Sherlock a little longer than the others, Greg,” John said to the DI, “but you still doubted him.”

Greg frowned. “Yeah.” He sighed. “If only we’d known how much stuff he did behind the scenes…no. That’s no excuse. We should’ve believed him. _I_ should’ve believed him. Moriarty just…made it too convincing…”

**ANDERSON: I think we have to entertain the possibility.**

**Greg stares at him, bewildered.**

**JIM (on the TV screen): And then even the King began to wonder...**

**He frowns, raising a finger to his mouth and gazing off to the side with a thoughtful look on his face. At Scotland Yard, Greg sinks his face into his hand as he is forced to consider what his officers are telling him. On the taxi TV screen, Jim frowns thoughtfully while cartoon lightning bolts shoot out of the clouds behind him.**

“Poor Sherlock…” Mrs. Hudson said. She watched, feeling pain rise in her chest as Sherlock became more and more distressed in the back of the cab. He may act all tough and like nothing bothered him, but she could see it. She could see how much he cared about solving mysteries, even if they were mostly for himself, she could detect the hidden pride he felt when solving a problem for another person. Then, Moriarty had to come along and tear it all down, just because he felt like it.

**JIM (shaking his head repeatedly): But that wasn’t the end of Sir Boast-a-lot’s problem. No.**

**He looks down for a moment, then raises his eyes to the camera again.**

**JIM: That wasn’t the final problem.**

**Sherlock bares his teeth at the screen as the camera pulls back to show Jim sitting with a storybook held in his hands. He looks up at the camera and finishes in an even more sing-song voice.**

**JIM: The End.**

“I take back ever calling Sherlock a freak because _that man_ is completely insane! He makes Sherlock look like the most normal person to have ever lived!” Sally whispered insistently under her breath.

**Behind him, a red velvet curtain drops down as if covering a theatre stage. The shot changes to an extreme close-up of Jim grinning hugely and showing his teeth, then the screen fritzes a few times and eventually returns to the jewellery advert.**

**SHERLOCK: Stop the cab! Stop the cab!**

**The taxi begins to pull up to the curb.**

**SHERLOCK: What was that?**

**He jumps out of the right-hand door and runs forward to the driver’s door.**

**SHERLOCK: What was that?**

**The cabbie, wearing a cloth cap very reminiscent of the one worn by the cabbie in “A Study in Pink,” turns his head towards Sherlock and reveals that he is Jim Moriarty, who adopts a London accent as he speaks.**

**JIM: No charge.**

Mrs. Hudson shrieked in surprise.

**He immediately accelerates away as Sherlock tries to grab hold of the door and pull the cab back. Forced to let go, he chases after the taxi, but it soon speeds away. He stops in the middle of the road, glaring after it and unaware that another car is speeding along behind him.**

“Look out!” Molly screamed, even though Sherlock couldn’t hear her.

Everyone else tensed in anticipation. Sherlock lives through this, they had to tell themselves; he lives, only to die later…

**As it sounds its horn in warning, a man hurries off the pavement, grabs him and pulls him out of danger.**

**MAN: Look out!**

**Not yet fully realizing what the man is doing, Sherlock strikes out at him but then stops as the car roars past and he realizes what has happened. He stands with the man at arm’s length, breathing heavily while the man looks warily at him. Those of us who have been paying attention – or who just rewound the recording to check – realize that this is Sulejmani, the Albanian assassin who lives on Baker Street.**

“That’s one of the assassins!” Molly claimed, pointing at the man on the screen.

“Why did he save Sherlock if he’s an assassin?” Anderson was completely lost, as usual.

“He probably wants something from Sherlock that he can only get if he’s alive,” Lestrade guessed. “Probably that code to open any lock he wants. I wouldn’t put it past Moriarty to tell them that he gave it to Sherlock, just to have them all fighting over it; he seems the type.”

**SHERLOCK (catching his breath): Thank you.**

**He holds out his hand for the man to shake. Sulejmani somewhat reluctantly takes it and we soon realize why he wasn’t keen when three bullets are fired into him in quick succession from somewhere behind Sherlock. Sulejmani slumps to the ground and Sherlock spins around, trying to find the source of the gunfire. Just then another black cab comes around the corner and pulls up a short distance away. John jumps out and hurries towards him.**

Mrs. Hudson shrieked again, and this time, a few of the others joined her.

“What did I tell you?” Lestrade grimaced, horrified that he was right. “They’re all fighting over Sherlock, and aren’t afraid to kill each other in the process.”

**JOHN: Sherlock!**

*****

**Sometime later Sherlock stands twitching his fingers fretfully while an ambulance crew wheels Sulejmani’s body away.**

**JOHN: That ... it’s him. It’s him. Sulejmani or something. Mycroft showed me his file. He’s a big Albanian gangster lives two doors down from us.**

**SHERLOCK: He died because I shook his hand.**

**JOHN: What d’you mean?**

**SHERLOCK: He saved my life, but he couldn’t touch me. Why?**

**He storms off. John follows.**

*****

**221B. Sherlock walks rapidly into the living room, pulling off his scarf and then his coat as he goes across to the laptop on the dining table.**

**SHERLOCK: Four assassins living right on our doorstep. They didn’t come here to kill me; they have to keep me alive.**

**He sits down at the table while John goes over to the window near him and looks out.**

**SHERLOCK: I’ve got something that all of them want-**

“Looks like you were right,” Sally elbowed Lestrade.

**-but if one of them approaches me...**

**JOHN: ...the others kill them before they can get it.**

**Sherlock grunts in agreement and types rapidly on the laptop, navigating away from the website for St Aldate’s School and calling up a list of local Wi-Fi networks. There are five of them and he checks their signal strength and the names of the networks, each of which is in a foreign language.**

**SHERLOCK: All of the attention is focussed on me. There’s a surveillance web closing in on us right now.**

**JOHN: So what have you got that’s so important?**

**Sherlock gazes into the distance and thinks for a moment, then runs his finger along the table beside the computer before lifting it and looking at his fingertip.**

**SHERLOCK: We need to ask about the dusting.**

*****

**Shortly afterwards, Mrs. Hudson has been dragged upstairs in her nightdress and dressing gown. Sherlock is hurrying around the room checking for dust on all the furniture.**

**SHERLOCK: Precise details: in the last week, what’s been cleaned?**

“I thought you weren’t their housekeeper…” Anderson mumbled.

**MRS. HUDSON: Well, Tuesday I did your lino...**

**SHERLOCK: No, in here, this room. This is where we’ll find it – any break in the dust line. You can put back anything but dust.**

**He lifts his hand from the latest piece of furniture that he has been running his finger along and twirls his finger dramatically in the air.**

**SHERLOCK: Dust is eloquent.**

**Mrs. Hudson looks over her shoulder at John.**

**MRS. HUDSON (quietly): What’s he on about?**

**John shakes his head and mumbles. By now Sherlock is climbing on the furniture to look more closely at the top shelves of the bookcase to the left of the fireplace.**

**SHERLOCK: Cameras. We’re being watched.**

“Took you long enough…” Sally said.

“We only knew because we saw evidence of it earlier – basically shoved in our faces!” Anderson protested. For once, he didn’t want to try to be smart about it if Sally was going to be a jerk.

**MRS. HUDSON: What? Cameras? (She cringes.) Here? I’m in my nightie!**

**The doorbell has just rung, and she hurries out of the room, John following her. Sherlock has climbed down and now checks in the eye sockets of the skull on the mantelpiece before climbing onto small tables on the other side of the fireplace to look at the bookshelves there. Checking the books on the top shelf, he apparently realises that the one on the far right has more movement around it than it ought, and he pushes it deeper into the shelf, revealing a camera stuck to the side of the bookshelf. As he reaches up to remove it, Greg comes into the room followed by John.**

**SHERLOCK (without turning around, still concentrating on removing the camera): No, Inspector.**

**LESTRADE: What?**

**SHERLOCK (stepping down with the camera in his fingers): The answer’s no.**

**LESTRADE: But you haven’t heard the question!**

**SHERLOCK: You want to take me to the station. Just saving you the trouble of asking.**

“And of course, he knows!” Sally grumbled. Now she was wishing that she’d never brought it up. How could she have been such a fool? She nearly shook her head to rid herself of the though. She knew. She was driven by bitterness and revenge. She hated Sherlock because he was rude and better than her in every way at nearly everything and she was jealous. She thought he was strange, and she wanted a reason – any reason – to convict him, to get him away from the station and away from her! She was sick and tire of him showing off that she’d been blinded!

**He walks closer. Greg pulls in a breath.**

**LESTRADE: Sherlock...**

**SHERLOCK (interrupting): The scream?**

**LESTRADE: Yeah.**

**SHERLOCK: Who was it? Donovan? I bet it was Donovan. Am I somehow responsible for the kidnapping? Ah, Moriarty is smart. He planted that doubt in her head, that little nagging sensation. You’re going to have to be strong to resist. You can’t kill an idea, can you? Not once it’s made a home... (he reaches forward and briefly places his index fingertip on Greg’s forehead between his eyes) ...there.**

“Honestly, if he wants us to believe him, he could at least not act so suspicious…” Lestrade pointed out. “But then again, that’s how he always acts. Why couldn’t I just ignore it?” he went back to scolding himself.

**LESTRADE: Will you come?**

**SHERLOCK (turning away, sitting down at the laptop and beginning to type): One photograph – that’s his next move. Moriarty’s game: first the scream, then a photograph of me being taken in for questioning. He wants to destroy me inch by inch.**

**Picking up the camera again, he looks at it for a moment, then raises his eyes to Greg’s.**

**SHERLOCK: It is a game, Lestrade, and not one I’m willing to play.**

“What just happened to his voice?” Anderson asked. “It went all rough… Was he…?” _choking up?_ Was he emotional? Sad that Lestrade doubted him, too? Anderson didn’t want to finish his question.

**SHERLOCK (looking away again): Give my regards to Sergeant Donovan.**

**Sighing and exchanging a brief look with John, Greg turns and heads off down the stairs. John watches him go, then turns back towards Sherlock who has now linked the camera into the computer so that he can pull up the live footage on the computer screen. Downstairs, Greg walks along the hallway and glowers at Sally who is waiting at the front door. He walks past her and out into the street. She turns and watches him unhappily, then follows. Upstairs, John has gone over to the right-hand window and looks out at the car parked outside as Greg and Sally go over to it and get in, Greg glancing up towards the window momentarily. As the car starts, Sherlock briefly looks at John.**

**SHERLOCK: They’ll be deciding.**

**JOHN: Deciding?**

**SHERLOCK: Whether to come back with a warrant and arrest me.**

**JOHN: You think?**

**SHERLOCK: Standard procedure.**

**JOHN: Should have gone with him. People’ll think...**

**SHERLOCK: I don’t care what people think.**

**JOHN: You’d care if they thought you were stupid, or wrong.**

**SHERLOCK: No, that would just make them stupid or wrong.**

**Angrily, John turns towards him.**

**JOHN: Sherlock, I don’t want the world believing you’re...**

**He breaks off as Sherlock lifts his head to look at him. They lock eyes for a long moment.**

**SHERLOCK: That I am what?**

**JOHN: A fraud.**

**Sherlock rolls his eyes and sits back in the seat.**

**SHERLOCK: You’re worried they’re right.**

**JOHN: What?**

**SHERLOCK: You’re worried they’re right about me.**

Molly looked aghast. She turned a betrayed eye on John. “Even you, John? After all you two have been through together?”

John avoided her eyes. His jaw clenched to hide the tremble. “Moriarty is good at what he does,” he admitted. “Most of the time I didn’t even know what was happening when Sherlock was solving a case. Only seeing it from an outside perspective like this really drills it in as real, all real… Because even though I was there for nearly every case he’s solved, how was I supposed to know what went on inside his head?” He was miserable. Miserable that he’d doubted his best friend. The best friend that was later killed – killed himself – because of his (and everyone else’s) doubt.

**JOHN: No.**

**SHERLOCK: That’s why you’re so upset. You can’t even entertain the possibility that they might be right. You’re afraid that you’ve been taken in as well.**

**JOHN (turning away and look out of the window again): No I’m not.**

**Sherlock leans forward.**

**SHERLOCK: Moriarty is playing with your mind too. (Furious, he slams his hand onto the table.) Can’t you see what’s going on?**

**John looks at him for a few seconds, then looks out of the window again.**

**JOHN: No, I know you’re for real.**

**SHERLOCK: A hundred percent?**

**JOHN (quietly, turning back towards him): Well, nobody could fake being such an annoying d*** all the time.**

“Not the time to be joking, John,” Molly whispered.

**Sherlock locks eyes with him again, then his mouth twitches with the trace of a smile. John looks away once more.**

“Ha!” Anderson exclaimed. “You’ll have to do better than that, Moriarty!”

Sally elbowed him, “You were on _my_ side in this, you idiot,” she growled.

Anderson glared back at her. “You’re the idiot. You’re the one who convinced me!”

“Please. You were on board with the idea from the start! You hated him just as much as I did!”

“That’s because I was jealous of him! I just wanted to prove that I was smart, too! I earned my place at New Scotland Yard and then he comes in and treats me like I’m in kindergarten and just came in to play around!”

“Both of you, shut up! Anderson, Sherlock was probably smarter than you when he was in kindergarten!” Molly snapped at the two of them.

Both clamped their mouths shut, shocked by the sudden outburst from the mousy pathologist. She was usually so quiet, but she was getting to the end of her frayed nerves for poor Sherlock.

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	47. 2x3 Part 6 The Reichenbach Fall

_“You’re all mere steps away from cracking the big secret. Just thirty more minutes to watch!”_ The words almost danced across the screen as John read them aloud.

“What secret do they keep talking about?” Anderson asked. He was ever curious as always, but he couldn’t deny that a spark of guilt was eating away at his curiosity. It wasn’t his main priority. The thought plaguing his every thought was that of his actions. He knew what was coming. He’d had a personal hand in the death of Sherlock Holmes – he was sure of it! After everything they’d witnessed in these videos, after learning how much Sherlock didn’t – or did – care about what people thought, it seemed so strange that he would just give up, would just jump off that roof with no grand scheme. That just wasn’t the style of the man that had once infuriated him with his every word and move. It just didn’t sit right with him.

Something was up, and as much of an “idiot” Sherlock always declared him, he was determined to get to the bottom of it.

The screen jumped into a new scene.

**SCOTLAND YARD. Greg is sitting in front of the desk of the Chief Superintendent while Sally and Anderson stand nearby. The Chief walks around his desk to sit down behind it.**

**CHIEF SUPERINTENDENT: Sherlock Holmes?**

**LESTRADE: Yes, sir.**

**CHIEF SUPERINTENDENT: That bloke that’s been in the press.**

**LESTRADE: Mmm-hmm.**

**CHIEF SUPERINTENDENT: I thought he was some sort of private eye.**

**LESTRADE: He is.**

**CHIEF SUPERINTENDENT: We’ve been consulting with him – that’s what you’re…you’re telling me?**

**Greg nods.**

**CHIEF SUPERINTENDENT: Not used him on any proper cases, though, have we?**

**LESTRADE: Well, one or two.**

**Anderson, his arms folded and looking down at his feet, snorts quietly.**

**ANDERSON (softly): Or twenty or thirty.**

**CHIEF SUPERINTENDENT: What?**

**LESTRADE: Look, I’m not the only senior officer who did this. Gregson...**

**CHIEF SUPERINTENDENT (interrupting): Shut up!**

Despite it being in the past, Lestrade winced again as the man shouted at him. He knew it had been against protocol to consult Sherlock. He knew it, but that didn’t stop him from bringing him in on every case he couldn’t solve. The man refused to work for them directly; he refused to be tied down! In that way, Lestrade knew it was also his fault that Sherlock died. If he hadn’t brought Sherlock in on cases, this conversation would never have happened. Sherlock wouldn’t have been a suspect in the kidnapping because that was police jurisdiction.

**CHIEF SUPERINTENDENT: An amateur detective given access to all sorts of classified information, and now he’s a suspect in a case!**

Or perhaps not. Lestrade steeled himself. This probably would’ve happened whether or not he brought Sherlock in. Moriarty would still have found him, still have sent all those cases at him. Lestrade’s action just made things worse, but they all still would’ve happened.

And Sherlock wouldn’t want him to blame himself. He’d probably say that it was taking away from his dramatic end. Lestrade flinched at the thought. Suicide wasn’t any way to go. Even if he shouldn’t blame himself, he would hold onto the guilt that he didn’t do anything more to help stop the domino effect of everything that was coming.

**LESTRADE: With all due respect, sir...**

**CHIEF SUPERINTENDENT (interrupting): You’re a bloody idiot, Lestrade! Now go and fetch him in right now!**

**Greg hesitates.**

**CHIEF SUPERINTENDENT (sternly): Do it.**

**Greg stands up and the three of them leave the room. The Chief Superintendent takes off his glasses and buries his head in his hand. Outside the others are on their way across the main office.**

**LESTRADE: Are you proud of yourselves?**

**ANDERSON: Well, what if it’s not just this case? What if he’s done this to us every single time?**

A few frowns were sent Anderson’s way. Now, they knew the truth. If the videos were to be trusted, Sherlock was the good guy. Always had been, always would be. Moriarty was his villain; he was the villain in the fairy tale, just like he’d said.

**Sally grabs her coat from the coat stand as she goes past. Anderson leaves without one. Greg stops for his own coat then takes out his phone and starts dialling. Hanging back from the other two, he raises the phone to his ear.**

Mrs. Hudson smiled gently and laid a hand on Lestrade’s arm. “I’m sorry for what I said to you, dear. You didn’t have a choice in the matter.”

*****

**Shortly afterwards, John – standing in the centre of the living room at 221B – lowers his own phone from his ear and switches it off. He turns to Sherlock who is now sitting in his armchair.**

**JOHN: So, still got some friends on the Force. It’s Lestrade. Says they’re all coming over here right now, queuing up to slap on the handcuffs: every single officer you ever made feel like a tit, which is a lot of people.**

**Sherlock appears to be taking no notice of him, and now Mrs. Hudson knocks on the closed living room door with her customary “Yoo-hoo!” and then comes in, still in her nightwear. She apparently feels the tension in the room.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Oh, sorry, am I interrupting?**

**Sherlock rolls his eyes and looks away. She turns her attention to John.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Some chap delivered a parcel. I forgot. Marked ‘Perishable’ – I had to sign for it.**

**John takes the Jiffy bag from her and immediately realizes that there’s a wax seal over the flap. Sherlock looks across and also sees the seal.**

“Something else from Moriarty?” Sally asked, glowering at the package on the screen.

**MRS. HUDSON: Funny name. German, like the fairytales.**

**Sherlock rises to his feet and walks forward, his gaze intense and locked on the Jiffy bag as John opens it and pulls out the contents. Outside, the sirens of several different vehicles are approaching. In John’s hand is a large gingerbread man but it’s an unusual colour. He tilts it so that Sherlock can see it better.**

**SHERLOCK: Burnt to a crisp.**

Lestrade scoffed. “Moriarty wasn’t kidding when he said he’d _burn_ Sherlock,” he said. There was a dry sarcasm in his words like he hated each and every one of them as they came out of his mouth.

**The vehicles pull up outside and the sirens stop, and doors start to slam as people get out of the cars.**

**JOHN (referring to the burnt gingerbread man): What does it mean?**

**The doorbell rings and at the same time someone pounds on the front door knocker.**

**VOICE: Police!**

**MRS. HUDSON: I’ll go.**

**She turns and hurries down the stairs as someone continues to knock on the door. Voices can be heard as she opens the door.**

**DONOVAN (offscreen): Sherlock...**

**LESTRADE (offscreen): Evening, Mrs. Hudson.**

**DONOVAN (calling up the stairs): We need to talk to you!**

**John puts the gingerbread man back into the envelope and puts it on the table before heading out of the flat. Downstairs, Mrs. Hudson sounds angry.**

**MRS. HUDSON (offscreen): Don’t barge in like that!**

**Feet can be heard trotting up the stairs. Calmly Sherlock turns around and picks up his scarf and loops it around his neck. John is apparently blocking the stairs partway up.**

**JOHN (offscreen): Have you got a warrant? Have you?**

**LESTRADE (offscreen): Leave it, John.**

**MRS. HUDSON (offscreen): Really! Manners!**

**Sherlock puts on his coat.**

Molly threw a hand over her mouth. Her cheeks wrinkled as her jaw clenched. “He’s…he’s just getting his coat on. He’s getting ready to go outside because he’s given up.”

“He hasn’t given up,” John assured her.

Lestrade barked out a laugh. “You can say that again. Going by what he does next.”

Molly looked at the two of them, eyebrows raised. “What does he do next?”

John was grinning in spite of the darkening mood of the room. “You’ll see.”

**Shortly afterwards Greg stands in front of him while one of two armed officers attaches handcuffs to his left wrist.**

**LESTRADE: Sherlock Holmes, I’m arresting you on suspicion of abduction and kidnapping.**

**John gestures towards Sherlock while looking at Greg as the officer pulls Sherlock’s left hand behind his back in order to cuff his other wrist.**

**JOHN: He’s not resisting.**

**SHERLOCK: It’s all right, John.**

**JOHN: He’s not resisting. No, it’s not all right. This is ridiculous.**

**LESTRADE (to the officer who just handcuffed Sherlock): Get him downstairs now.**

**The officer spins Sherlock around and marches him out of the door. Mrs. Hudson stands nearby almost in tears.**

**JOHN (to Greg): You know you don’t have to do...**

**LESTRADE (getting into his face and pointing at him sternly): Don’t try to interfere, or I shall arrest you too.**

**He turns and leaves the room. John turns to Sally who is standing near the door.**

**JOHN: You done?**

**DONOVAN (looking smug as she walks into the room): Oh, I said it.**

John cracked his knuckles. “That wasn’t any time to be smug. You were playing right into Moriarty’s hands.”

Sally shrugged helplessly. “I’ve already admitted I was wrong! What more do you want? ‘I know, and I’ll carry this guilt with me forever!’ How’s that?” Her mouth then snapped shut and she looked down. She’d been overdramatizing, but she really did feel the guilt weighing her down.

**JOHN: Mmm-hmm?**

**DONOVAN: First time we met.**

**JOHN: Don’t bother.**

**DONOVAN: “Solving crimes won’t be enough. One day he’ll cross the line.” Now, ask yourself: what sort of man would kidnap those kids just so he can impress us all by finding them?**

“Not Sherlock. That’s who,” Lestrade said firmly, crossing his arms.

**Mrs. Hudson gasps. Just then the Chief Superintendent walks in.**

**CHIEF SUPERINTENDENT: Donovan.**

**DONOVAN: Sir.**

**CHIEF SUPERINTENDENT: That’s our man?**

**DONOVAN: Er, yes, sir.**

**CHIEF SUPERINTENDENT: Looked a bit of a weirdo, if you ask me.**

**John turns towards him.**

**CHIEF SUPERINTENDENT: Often are, these vigilante types.**

“Vigilante?” Anderson looked appalled. “In what world is Sherlock a vigilante?”

“See? And you guys arrested Sherlock on that man’s orders. Are you still proud of yourselves? Obviously not.” John cut off anyone else with the answer to his own question.

**He has been looking around the living room but now he turns and sees John staring at him.**

**CHIEF SUPERINTENDENT: What are you looking at?**

**Sally’s eyes widen, and she instantly lowers her head as if she knows what’s coming and can’t bear to look. John starts to move.**

“John! You better not be doing what I think you’re about to do!” Molly scolded. She whirled around to face him, making eye contact in the darkness of the room.

John blushed. “I may have done it.”

*****

**A minute or two later, the Chief Superintendent walks out onto the street holding a handkerchief to his bleeding nose.**

**POLICE OFFICER: Are you all right, sir?**

“You really did it…” Molly let out a nervous, amused laugh.

**Nearby, Sherlock has been leaned against the side of a police car, facing it. Now John is slammed up against the car next to him and to his left. Sherlock looks across to him with an amused expression on his face.**

**SHERLOCK: Joining me?**

“He’s still making jokes in that situation?” Anderson scoffed.

Lestrade shrugged. “He wasn’t intending to go down to the station at all, it seems.”

**JOHN: Yeah. Apparently, it’s against the law to chin the Chief Superintendent.**

**Behind them, a couple of armed officers unlock the cuff on Sherlock’s right hand and transfer it to John’s right wrist, chaining the boys together. Sherlock looks over his shoulder, watching what the officers are doing and where they’re standing.**

**SHERLOCK (to John): Hmm. Bit awkward, this.**

**JOHN: Huh. No-one to bail us.**

**SHERLOCK: I was thinking more about our imminent and daring escape.**

“‘Imminent and daring escape’?” Donovan repeated. She paused for a moment to consider it, then nodded in approval. “I gotta give it to ‘im; it kind of was.”

**He looks down at the radio lying on the dashboard of the car they’re leaning against. The radio squeals as the dispatcher speaks.**

**RADIO DISPATCHER: All units to two-seven.**

**John looks over at Sherlock’s previous statement.**

**JOHN: What?**

**RADIO DISPATCHER: All units to two...**

**Rapidly Sherlock reaches through the open window of the car with his free hand and presses down on the Talk button. Instantly the officer behind the boys doubles over in pain and grabs at his earpiece when a high-pitched squeal of feedback rips through it. Sherlock reaches behind him and pulls the officer’s pistol free, instantly raising it. Because it’s in his left hand, John’s shackled right hand is yanked upwards as well and he gasps in surprise at the rapid turn of events. Sherlock calls out as he aims the pistol towards the nearest officers.**

**SHERLOCK: Ladies and gentlemen, will you all please get on your knees?**

“Sherlock!” Molly nearly jumped out of her seat. “That’s not helping clear your name at all!”

“No, not really,” Lestrade agreed.

“Did you catch him again?” she whispered to him.

“Tried not to.”

**Nearby, Greg watches, giving a half shrug like he was expecting this. When nobody reacts very quickly, Sherlock raises the gun skywards and fires it twice.**

**SHERLOCK: NOW would be good!**

**He lowers it and points it at the police again.**

**LESTRADE: Do as he says!**

**He gestures everybody downwards and all the police start to kneel. The boys start to back away.**

**JOHN (loudly): Just-just so you’re aware, the gun is his idea. I’m just a…you know...**

**Sherlock transfers the pistol to his right hand and promptly aims it at John’s head.**

Molly and Mrs. Hudson gasp in surprise.

**SHERLOCK (loudly): ...my hostage.**

**John gasps.**

**JOHN (quietly, to Sherlock): Hostage! Yes, that works – that works!**

**They continue backing away from the kneeling police. Behind them and probably unnoticed in all the excitement, a piece of artistic graffiti has been sprayed on the wall of the house on the street corner. In red paint, huge letters spelling out “IOU” are at least three feet high and are surrounded by an elaborate dark set of angel’s wings. The boys begin to back carefully around the corner.**

Mycroft glared at the screen. Lestrade followed his eyes. He just barely caught what the man was glowering at. It was something over Sherlock’s shoulder on the wall.

“It says IOU again,” he observed.

“What?” Anderson asked.

A few heads turned to look at him.

Lestrade looked back. “It said IOU on the wall behind Sherlock. It’s Moriarty again.”

“How did we miss that?”

“Because we didn’t know about it before, you dolt,” Sally told him.

Anderson frowned. “I mean right now. I just missed it again.”

“I don’t think we can go back,” Molly said. She, too, had missed it. The scenes were changing so fast.

**JOHN: So what now?**

**SHERLOCK: Doing what Moriarty wants – I’m becoming a fugitive. Run.**

“I guess there’s no other choice, is there?” Molly asked. “You lot gave him no choice.” She turned to glare at the three Yarders, who all looked very guilty. Because of their actions, Sherlock had to play along with Moriarty.

**He turns and begins to race off down the road, dragging John with him. Back at the police cars, Greg buries his head in his hands. The Chief Superintendent gets to his feet and turns to him.**

**CHIEF SUPERINTENDENT: Get after him, Lestrade!**

**Greg glares furiously at Sally as she begins to head in the direction the boys have gone. Greg is a lot slower in getting moving. Around the corner, as the boys run along side by side, Sherlock loops the loose chain between their handcuffs around his wrist.**

**SHERLOCK: Take my hand.**

**JOHN (grabbing his hand as they race onwards): Now people will definitely talk.**

Everything was tense, but it was still broken by laughter.

“We were already talking, John,” Lestrade said. He felt the pit of guilt sink deeper; it’s pressure lightened on his heart.

**Sirens are approaching at the junction ahead of them. Sherlock swerves to his left and drops the pistol in the process. It clatters to the ground.**

**JOHN: The gun!**

**SHERLOCK: Leave it!**

**He shoves John down a side alley as the police car races straight across the junction. They run down the alleyway and reach high railings blocking their way. Sherlock, with his customary flair, leaps up onto the top of a dustbin and vaults straight over the top of the railings. John is left behind; his right hand is dragged upwards and his face almost smashes against the railings as Sherlock drops to the other side.**

**JOHN: Sherlock, wait!**

**He reaches through the railings with his free hand and grabs Sherlock’s coat, dragging him closer and glaring into his face.**

“Are you two about to kiss during a police chase? Seriously, John?” Sally asked.

John glared. His face was bright red. “We’re _not._ We were never together.”

**JOHN (speaking clearly and sternly): We’re going to need to coordinate.**

**Sherlock quickly scans all around them.**

**SHERLOCK: Go to your right.**

**JOHN: Huh?**

**SHERLOCK: Go to your right.**

**He looks upwards and goes up onto his tiptoes to get the chain of the cuffs over the top of one of the spikes at the top of the railings.**

**Not long afterwards, they’re on the same side of the railings and running down the alley again. Reaching a T-junction Sherlock turns to the right, then immediately brakes and ducks back again as a wailing police car races past the end of the alley. The two of them lean side by side against the wall catching their breath for a moment.**

“Wait,” Anderson interrupted. “How did you make that work?”

John shrugged. “I don’t remember. It just kind of happened.”

Anderson sighed, disappointed.

**SHERLOCK: Everybody wants to believe it – that’s what makes it so clever. (He looks at John.) A lie that’s preferable to the truth. (Looking away again, his voice becomes bitter.) All my brilliant deductions were just a sham. No-one feels inadequate – Sherlock Holmes is just an ordinary man.**

That line was what really got to Sally and Anderson. There was nothing closer to the truth of the situation. Lying deep beneath their excuses of caring about the safety of the children – which they really _did_ care about – they’d just wanted something else, an excuse to prove that Sherlock wasn’t special. They wanted to prove that no one could be that smart because they’d felt inadequate next to him.

The truth exploded upwards with the discomforting force of nausea.

**JOHN: What about Mycroft? He could help us.**

Mrs. Hudson looked at the man in question and scoffed. “Yeah. Good luck with that, boys,” she huffed, crossing her arms.

**He grunts as Sherlock drags him across to the other side of the alley and peers down the left arm of the T-junction.**

**SHERLOCK: A big family reconciliation? Now’s not really the moment.**

**He spins around, dragging John in a circle behind him and looking back the way they came. John spots something at the end of the right arm of the T-junction.**

**JOHN: Sher…Sherlock.**

**He elbows him with his cuffed arm to turn him in that direction. A face is peering around the corner at the end of the alley.**

**JOHN: We’re being followed. I knew we couldn’t outrun the police.**

**SHERLOCK: That’s not the police. It’s one of my new neighbours from Baker Street. Let’s see if he can give us some answers.**

**He breaks in the opposite direction from where the man is watching them. Running to the next corner, they flatten themselves against the wall as they reach it and Sherlock looks around the corner. There’s no sign of any police in the street but a double-decker bus – the number 74 to Baker Street Station – is approaching. Sherlock presses himself back against the wall again.**

**JOHN: Where are we going?**

**SHERLOCK: We’re going to jump in front of that bus.**

**JOHN: What?!**

“That’s what I was thinking!” Anderson exclaimed.

“The assassin is going to save him. That’s the point. They need to get close to him, but e knows he’ll be killed by the others if he does that without reason. Clever as always,” Lestrade acknowledged.

**But Sherlock’s already on the move and drags John out into the street. The assassin races after them. Halfway across the road, Sherlock screeches to a halt directly in front of the approaching bus. John’s impetus carries him past Sherlock before he’s able to stop and turn and now they’re both facing the bus and not moving. The assassin charges into the road throws himself at them and shoves them out of the way and all three of them tumble to the ground as the bus drives past, its horn blaring. Before the assassin can recover, Sherlock sits up and drags the man’s own gun from his jeans, then cocks and points it at him.**

**SHERLOCK: Tell me what you want from me.**

**The man stares at him wide-eyed but doesn’t speak. Sherlock moves the gun’s muzzle closer to him.**

**SHERLOCK: Tell me.**

**ASSASSIN: He left it at your flat.**

**SHERLOCK: Who?**

**ASSASSIN: Moriarty.**

**SHERLOCK: What?**

**All three of them start to get to their feet, Sherlock still holding the gun on the other man.**

**ASSASSIN: The computer keycode.**

**SHERLOCK: Of course. He’s selling it – the programme he used to break into the Tower. He planted it when he came around.**

**Three gunshots ring out and the assassin reels and drops to the ground. Sherlock stares up in the direction the bullets came from, then swings around and he and John race off.**

“At least the assassins are taking each other out,” Sally said.

“Now’s _not_ the time!” John scolded.

“What? I’m just saying. They’re slowly decreasing the number of assassins living around their flat.”

“Yeah, but someone’ll probably put me and Sherlock at the scene. They’ll think we shot that man.”

“They wouldn’t do that.”

“I doubt that, Molly.”

**As police sirens approach again, they duck into an open doorway and yet another police car drives past the end of the road. They take a moment to catch their breath.**

**SHERLOCK: It’s a game-changer. It’s a key – it can break into any system and it’s sitting in our flat right now. That’s why he left that message telling everyone where to come. “Get Sherlock.” We need to get back into the flat and search.**

**JOHN: CID’ll be camped out. Why plant it on you?**

**SHERLOCK: It’s another subtle way of smearing my name. Now I’m best pals with all those criminals.**

**John has spotted a pile of newspapers nearby and he picks up the top copy.**

**JOHN: Yeah, well, have you seen this?**

**It’s a copy of “The Sun” – the same edition that Mycroft had at the Diogenes Club that morning, telling of the upcoming exposé by Kitty Riley. John shows it to Sherlock.**

**JOHN: A kiss and tell. Some bloke called Rich Brook.**

**Sherlock slowly turns his head – clearly, the name means something to him. John is still looking at the paper and doesn’t see his expression.**

“He obviously knows,” Molly commented. “You can see it on his face.”

**JOHN: Who is he?**

*****

**Kitty Riley parks her car outside her home gets out and locks the car before walking to the front door.**

Molly glared. Of _course,_ they would go to that woman’s house. She wasn’t jealous, she _wasn’t_. It was just for Sherlock to get information on the next step in Moriarty’s plan. Her nails dug into her palms, nonetheless.

**Opening it, she walks along the hall to the door of her flat, then pauses and looks at the door nervously when she realises that it is slightly ajar. Hesitantly she pushes the door open and reaches for the light switch on the wall. The lights come on and she is greeted with the sight of Sherlock and John sitting side by side on her sofa, each of them drumming the fingers of their handcuffed hand on their respective knees.**

**SHERLOCK: Too late to go on the record?**

“That wallpaper is appalling!” Molly screeched.

Lestrade grinned at her. “Are you sure it’s her wallpaper that you don’t like?”

“Well, obviously, she also has way too many pictured stuffed up there!” she replied.

“And there’s just the little fact that she dragged Sherlock’s name through the mud,” he added.

“Exactly!” She huffed.

Everyone laughed. This was just the sort of break that they needed. It fended off the imminent fall they were all too anxious to watch.

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	48. 2x3 Part 7 The Reichenbach Fall

Molly was still growling by the time the next segment began.

**Not long afterwards, Kitty is sitting in an armchair while the boys stand in the middle of the room. Sherlock is using a hairpin to pick the lock on his handcuff.**

**SHERLOCK (to Kitty): Congratulations. The truth about Sherlock Holmes.**

**He frees his hand and gives the hairpin to John before starting to pace back and forth in front of Kitty.**

**SHERLOCK: The scoop that everybody wanted, and you got it. Bravo!**

**KITTY: I gave you your opportunity. I wanted to be on your side, remember? You turned me down, so...**

“That’s not true!” Anderson burst out, enraged. “Moriarty fed you lies, and you fell for them! Just like we all fell for them…” His mood went from fierce to flimsy in mere moments. He knew the truth now; he saw Sherlock for who he truly was. A jerk, but a right smart jerk who always did the right thing, even if it was for his own entertainment. However, unlike Moriarty, he didn’t invent crimes for the fun of solving them. If there wasn’t one to satisfy his boredom, well, they all saw what happened to his wall.

**SHERLOCK: And then, behold, someone turns up and spills all the beans. How utterly convenient. Who is Brook?**

**Kitty shakes her head, refusing to tell him any more.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, come on, Kitty. No-one trusts the voice at the end of a telephone.**

**John finally frees his own hand from the cuffs.**

**SHERLOCK: There are all those furtive little meetings in cafés; those sessions in the hotel room where he gabbled into your dictaphone. How do you know that you can trust him? A man turns up with the Holy Grail in his pockets. (Sternly) What were his credentials?**

**Outside in the hallway, there have been the sounds of someone coming in through the main front door. Now Kitty looks towards the door of the flat and rises to her feet with a concerned look on her face when someone pushes her door open. Sherlock turns to follow her gaze as Jim Moriarty, unshaven and with his hair messy and wearing casual clothes including a cardigan, walks in with a shopping bag.**

**JIM: Darling, they didn’t have any ground coffee so I just got normal...**

Everyone aside from John and Mycroft lunged out of their seats in surprise, all demanding in one way or another to know why and how Jim Moriarty was there. John ground his teeth; his fists clenched, and his eyes narrowed.

“John, what is going on?” Lestrade demanded.

John couldn’t bring himself to answer. Instead, Mycroft stepped in, though his voice was tight. “It appears that this is a part of Moriarty’s plan to discredit my brother. He posed as an innocent witness and victim to Sherlock’s so-called _crimes_.”

More uproar rose from the viewers.

“He can’t do that? How could he just change his whole identity like that?” Anderson questioned.

Lestrade sighed, rubbing a palm over his face. “Unfortunately, he’s a genius.”

“An evil genius,” Sally snarled.

Molly glared at the screen, but then she frowned, suddenly melancholy. “Well, if these videos do nothing else, at least they’ve converted Anderson and Donovan to our side,” she whispered.

John was the only one to hear. “Yeah. Too little, too late.” He bit his lip to fight back an intruding tear.

**He raises his eyes and stares in terror at the sight of Sherlock, whose own eyes widen. Jim drops the shopping bag and backs away until he bumps into the wall behind him, holding up his hands protectively in front of him.**

**JIM (his voice trembling): You said that they wouldn’t find me here. You said that I’d be safe here.**

“What the bloody hell is going on here?” Sally shrieked.

**KITTY: You are safe, Richard. I’m a witness. He wouldn’t harm you in front of witnesses.**

**John, his face full of shock, points at Jim.**

**JOHN (to Kitty): So that’s your source? Moriarty is Richard Brook?**

**His teeth are bared, and he glares at Jim, breathing heavily in pure fury.**

**KITTY: Of course he’s Richard Brook. There is no Moriarty. There never has been.**

“What a bleached blond imbecile,” Molly grumbled.

**JOHN: What are you talking about?**

**KITTY: Look him up. Rich Brook – an actor Sherlock Holmes hired to be Moriarty.**

Sally guffawed. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this!”

“Or seeing this,” Anderson agreed. “The first time we see a legitimate emotion on Sherlock’s face and it’s shock? I don’t think anyone would fake that genuine confusion, especially since Sherlock is _never_ confused.”

**Sherlock stares at Jim, who is still holding up his hands and looking at everyone nervously. Jim’s voice is shaking as he turns to John.**

**JIM: Doctor Watson, I know you’re a good man.**

**He backs into the corner of the room, appearing terrified under John’s ferocious glare.**

**JIM: Don’t...don’t h... Don’t hurt me.**

**John screams at him, pointing towards him furiously.**

**JOHN: No, you are Moriarty! (He turns his head briefly and yells at Kitty.) He’s Moriarty! (He turns back to Jim.) We’ve met, remember? You were gonna blow me up!**

**Jim puts his hands briefly over his face, then holds them up in front of himself again, sounding as if he is almost crying in fear.**

**JIM: I’m sorry. I’m sorry. (He gestures towards Sherlock.) He paid me. I needed the work. I’m an actor. I was out of work. I’m sorry, okay?**

Anderson crossed his arms. “I don’t believe that for one minute! He’s smiling the whole time! It’s like he’s on the verge of laughing!”

Lestrade shook his head. “Not so. Trauma and fear stimulus affect different people in different ways. Moriarty is just that good of an actor. He plays terrified well. We just don’t believe a word he’s saying because we’ve seen the behind-the-scenes, so to speak. We’ve seen him and Sherlock interact when it was just the two of them, in which case they would’ve broken character, but they haven’t.”

Anderson huffed. “if you say so. I still think it’s the worst _afraid_ acting I’ve ever seen.”

**Breathing heavily, John turns to Sherlock.**

**JOHN: Sherlock, you’d better...explain...because I am not getting this.**

**KITTY: Oh I’ll...I’ll be doing the explaining – in print. (She hands John a folder.) It’s all here – conclusive proof.**

**John looks at an early typed sheet of her upcoming article, then turns to the proof copy showing the layout of how it will appear in the newspaper, with spaces left for photographs. The headline reads, “Sherlock’s a fake!” with the strapline, “He invented all the crimes”.**

**KITTY (looking at Sherlock): You invented James Moriarty, your nemesis.**

**JOHN (upset): Invented him?**

**KITTY: Mmm-hmm. Invented all the crimes, actually – and to cap it all, you made up a master villain.**

**JOHN: Oh, don’t be ridiculous!**

Anderson turned to Sally. “Sherlock still in shock. He just can’t seem to believe that Moriarty is there…”

“No kidding.” She laughed a little. “If I’d known that was what it took to shut him up, I would’ve stopped trying _ages_ ago!”

**Kitty turns and points towards Jim.**

**KITTY: Ask him. He’s right here! Just ask him. Tell him, Richard.**

**JOHN (furiously): Look, for God’s sake, this man was on trial!**

**KITTY: Yes... (she points at Sherlock) ...and you paid him; paid him to take the rap. Promised you’d rig the jury.**

**Sherlock stares at her silently.**

**KITTY: Not exactly a West End role, but I’ll bet the money was good.**

“Where would _Sherlock_ of all people get enough money to pay off a guy to be as evil as Moriarty?” Sally exclaimed.

Mycroft ground his teeth silently. “That wouldn’t be a problem for him to explain. My brother and I come from a wealthy family.”

**She walks over to Jim and puts her arm around his shoulders while he stands with his hands still held out in front of himself.**

**KITTY: But not so good he didn’t want to sell his story.**

**Jim looks plaintively at John, putting his hands together pleadingly.**

**JIM: I am sorry. I am. I am sorry.**

**JOHN (to Kitty): So-so this is the story that you’re gonna publish. The big conclusion of it all: Moriarty’s an actor?!**

**He shakes his head in disbelief.**

**JIM: He knows I am. I have proof. I have proof. Show him, Kitty! Show him something!**

“What’s this so-called proof?” Molly demanded. She pounded her fists down on the armrests of her seat.

“It probably has something to do with that weird video he left for Sherlock in that taxi. The weird fairy tale he was telling, just to go along with his crazy theme.”

**JOHN: Yeah, show me something.**

**Kitty walks across the room. John turns to watch her as she reaches into a bag for more information. Behind them, Jim has put his hands over his face but now he pulls his hands away from his eyes a little and looks towards Sherlock, whose own gaze has barely left him since he arrived. For a brief moment, James Moriarty reveals his true self and he smiles triumphantly at his enemy.**

“See? There it is!” Anderson cried out, pointing wildly at the screen.

“We already know; Moriarty is a madman and a schemer,” Molly said. “You don’t need to point out the obvious.”

**Sherlock half-smiles back at him but there’s no humour in his eyes. Kitty takes out a folder, walks over to John and gives it to him.**

**JIM (slipping back into his Richard persona and sounding plaintive and panicked): I’m on TV. I’m on kids’ TV. I’m The Storyteller.**

Sally gasped. “ _Storyteller_! How could he _fake_ that? There would have to be people who remember him! He couldn’t have just made that up in those last few months.”

Lestrade’s eyes narrowed. “That depends on how long he’s been planning this. He could’ve been planning Sherlock’s downfall even before meeting him. The question is: _why_?”

“That crazy man just thinks our Sherlock is _fun_. That’s all there is to it! He saw a good man and wanted to take him down just to prove he could!” Mrs. Hudson was adamant in her assessment, so much so that the other didn’t dare argue against her point.

**John looks at copies of Richard Brook’s contact details apparently taken from an agency website, then a newspaper article showing a picture of Richard in glasses wearing medical scrubs and with a stethoscope around his neck. The article is headlined, “Award Winning Actor Joins The Cast of Top Medical Drama”.**

“If he was an _Award-Winning Actor_ , why would he be out of work? Especially so desperate that he’d take up the role of Moriarty? There’s a hole in his cover story,” Molly pointed out.

**JIM: I’m...I’m The Storyteller. It’s on DVD.**

**He looks across to Sherlock again, this time keeping his Richard face on. John continues looking through the folder at other publicity stills of Rich together with his CV. Jim gestures towards John, looking at Sherlock pleadingly.**

**JIM: Just tell him. It’s all coming out now. It’s all over. (His voice becomes more frantic.) Just tell them. Just tell them. Tell him!**

**Baring his teeth, Sherlock starts to walk towards him.**

“Well, at least we know that the shock’s worn off,” Anderson whispered.

“Now he’s just angry.”

**JIM: It’s all over now... NO!**

**He backs away from Sherlock and up a short flight of stairs towards the bedroom on the upper level of the flat. His eyes are wide and terrified.**

**JIM: Don’t you touch me! Don’t you lay a finger on me!**

**SHERLOCK (furiously): Stop it. Stop it NOW!**

**Jim turns and bolts up the stairs.**

**JIM: Don’t hurt me!**

**Sherlock and John chase after him.**

**JOHN: Don’t let him get away!**

**KITTY: Leave him alone!**

**Jim runs into the bathroom on the other side of the bedroom. With Kitty still at the bottom of the stairs and therefore unsighted, and John halfway up the stairs with his vision blocked by Sherlock ahead of him, Jim turns and grins manically at Sherlock for a brief second before slamming the door shut. Sherlock runs to the door and struggles momentarily to open it, then shoves it open but Jim has already disappeared through the open window opposite. There’s a crash outside as if Jim has landed on top of a dustbin. Sherlock looks out of the window, then turns to stop John.**

**SHERLOCK: No, no, no. He’ll have back-up.**

**He heads towards the stairs. Kitty backs down to get out of his way but doesn’t move quickly, slowing him down.**

**KITTY: D’you know what, Sherlock Holmes? I look at you now and I can read you.**

“She sounds so smug but really, she’s just idiotic, thinking that she knows the truth,” Sally said.

John huffed. “Sounds like someone we know.”

Sally spun around to glare at him. “Shut up, John! I hated him because he was a jerk! He was always putting us down, calling us idiots just because he was smarter than us!”

“Yeah, and you ruined his life and drove him to suicide! I’d say you’re even now!” John shot back.

“Calm down, you two! Let’s just continue watching. We must be almost done by now,” Lestrade reasoned. “Then we can all finally mourn and move on with our lives like I’m sure this was meant to do.”

**He stops at the bottom of the stairs as she gets into his face.**

**KITTY: And you...repel...me.**

**Sherlock turns and heads out of the door. John, still holding the folder of the articles about Rich, shoves Kitty aside and follows him. She closes the door behind them. The boys go out onto the street and John stops while Sherlock begins to pace rapidly back and forth in the middle of the road.**

**JOHN: Can he do that? Completely change his identity; make you the criminal?**

**SHERLOCK: He’s got my whole life story. That’s what you do when you sell a big lie; you wrap it up in the truth to make it more palatable.**

**JOHN: Your word against his.**

**SHERLOCK: He’s been sowing doubt into people’s minds for the last twenty-four hours. There’s only one thing he needs to do to complete his game, and that’s to...**

**He stops dead. John, who has been rifling through the folder, looks up at his friend, who is turned away from him.**

“…to make him kill himself. And die in shame…” Lestrade finished for him. It was a sentence he never wanted to say, but it had to be said. The truth was undeniable, after all.

**JOHN: Sherlock?**

**SHERLOCK: Something I need to do.**

Molly tensed. She snuck a glance at Mycroft, who glared down at her, not unnoticed by Lestrade. Both of the formers knew exactly what would be revealed: their plot to fake Sherlock’s death. The latter was just confused. As far as he knew, those two never had met, aside from probably brief passings in Bart’s when Sherlock was there. What could they possibly know about what Sherlock was about to do?

**JOHN: What? Can I help?**

**SHERLOCK: No – on my own.**

**He briskly walks away. John watches him, sighing, then looks down at the papers again. He looks up and down the road and then apparently decides where he needs to go and heads off in the opposite direction.**

*****

**BART’S. Molly comes out of a small side room in a lab, switches off the lights and walks across the darkened lab, sighing tiredly. As she reaches the door to the corridor, Sherlock is standing in the darkness behind her with his face turned away from her. She doesn’t see him and reaches for the door handle.**

Lestrade rubbed his beard. What was he doing there? Obviously, it had something to do with Molly. What had he planned with Molly before his death that was important enough to show here?

**SHERLOCK: You’re wrong, you know.**

**She gasps and jumps, spinning around towards him.**

**SHERLOCK: You do count. You’ve always counted, and I’ve always trusted you.**

Anderson and Sally looked at each other, confused. Where was this coming from? Where was the rude sociopath they’d known for years and why was he suddenly being so sensitive? Was it because he’d already planned to jump, to die?

**He turns his head towards her.**

**SHERLOCK: But you were right. I’m not okay.**

**MOLLY: Tell me what’s wrong.**

**SHERLOCK (slowly walking towards her): Molly, I think I’m going to die.**

Everyone turned to Molly.

“Why would he go to you?” John asked, a little heartbroken. “I’m only his best friend!”

Lestrade hummed. “It had to be Molly if he was planning something secret, don’t you see? She was right in saying that he acts like she doesn’t count. Moriarty wouldn’t think about her if he was targeting anyone that Sherlock cared about.”

Mycroft laughed mechanically. “It seems my brother was wrong about you, Inspector. You’re a lot smarter than you appear to be.”

He got a few raised eyebrows for that comment.

**MOLLY: What do you need?**

**SHERLOCK (still slowly approaching her): If I wasn’t everything that you think I am – everything that I think I am – would you still want to help me?**

**She gazes up at him as he stops close to her.**

**MOLLY: What do you need?**

**He steps even closer; his expression is intense.**

**SHERLOCK: You.**

Anderson and Sally met eyes yet again while Molly was blushing bright red. That sounded so much more intimate than it was. He’d just been asking for her help, but the footage made it seem so much more than that!

*****

**THE DIOGENES CLUB. Mycroft walks across one of the common rooms, where an old man is fast asleep in an armchair, and goes into the smaller private room, reaching for the door handle to close it, but he stops when he realizes that John is sitting in one of the armchairs with his back to him. John is still looking through Kitty’s file.**

**JOHN: She has really done her homework, Miss Riley – things that only someone close to Sherlock could know.**

**MYCROFT (closing the door): Ah.**

**JOHN: Have you seen your brother’s address book lately? Two names: yours and mine, and Moriarty didn’t get this stuff from me.**

**Mycroft walks across the room to face him.**

**MYCROFT: John ...**

**JOHN: So how does it work, then, your relationship? D’you go out for a coffee now and then, eh, you and Jim?**

**Mycroft sits down in the chair opposite and opens his mouth but John interrupts again. His voice is full of controlled anger.**

**JOHN: Your own brother, and you blabbed about his entire life to this maniac.**

**MYCROFT: I never inten... I never dreamt...**

“No, you didn’t,” Lestrade said harshly. Boss or not, he cared a lot about Sherlock, and now he was dead. Sherlock was dead and his own brother was part of the cause, just like most of them in that room. “the one mistake you make and it’s one for the record books.”

**JOHN (interrupting): So this ...th-th-this ... (he looks through the papers again) ...is what you were trying to tell me, isn’t it? “Watch his back, ’cause I’ve made a mistake.”**

**He slaps the papers down on the table beside his chair and sits back, clearing his throat as he tries to stay calm.**

**JOHN: How did you meet him?**

**Mycroft draws in a long breath.**

**MYCROFT: People like him: we know about them; we watch them. But James Moriarty ... the most dangerous criminal mind the world has ever seen and in his pocket the ultimate weapon: a keycode. A few lines of computer code that could unlock any door.**

**JOHN: And you abducted him to try and find the keycode?**

**MYCROFT: Interrogated him for weeks.**

**Flashback to Mycroft watching through a one-way mirror while, in the cell on the other side of the mirror, a man viciously beats a seated Jim across the face.**

“Interrogated?” Molly asked. “You mean tortured?”

“Good.”

Everyone stared in shock at the person who said that. They weren’t expecting such a line to come from Mrs. Hudson. Though, it was understandable. She cared about Sherlock like a son, and now this man was the cause of his death after months of tormenting him. She didn’t care if he paid for his crimes.

**JOHN: And?**

**MYCROFT: He wouldn’t play along.**

**In the flashback, Jim slowly turns his head towards the front after the blow and stares up at his interrogator, who strikes him again.**

**MYCROFT: He just sat there, staring into the darkness.**

**Again Jim turns his head to the front, appearing unfazed by the assault. The interrogator strikes him again.**

**MYCROFT: The only thing that made him open up...**

**Ruefully he gestures to himself. In the flashback, Mycroft opens the door to the cell and stops in the doorway. Jim lifts his head and looks at Mycroft’s reflection in the mirror in front of him.**

**MYCROFT: I could get him to talk...**

**Mycroft comes into the room and turns to shut the door behind him. Jim closes his eyes and smiles blissfully as Mycroft walks closer.**

**MYCROFT: ...just a little, but...**

**He trails off. John grimly finishes the sentence for him.**

**JOHN: ...in return, you had to offer him Sherlock’s life story. So one big lie – Sherlock’s a fraud – but people will swallow it because the rest of it’s true.**

“That’s the way to do it,” Lestrade couldn’t help but agree with Moriarty’s method, no matter how much he hated the result. It was effective.

**He leans forward in his chair.**

**JOHN: Moriarty wanted Sherlock destroyed, right? And you have given him the perfect ammunition.**

Molly glared at Mycroft. That was one detail about the whole “Reichenbach Fall” that she hadn’t known about. And now, she wouldn’t ever forget it.

**He smiles bitterly at him. Mycroft lowers his eyes. John pulls in a sharp breath and then gets to his feet, turning towards the door.**

**MYCROFT: John...**

**John turns back. Mycroft looks up at him.**

**MYCROFT (softly): I’m sorry.**

**JOHN (tightly): Oh, please...**

**He shakes his head in disbelief and turns away, laughing humourlessly as he walks to the door.**

**MYCROFT: Tell him, would you?**

“What? That you gave his nemesis his life story on a silver platter for which he will ruin his life? Sure, he’ll tell him,” Molly said, sending Mycroft a bitter smile of her own.

**John opens the door and walks away, leaving the door open behind him.**

*****

**BART’S LAB. The lights are now on. Sherlock sits alone on the floor with his back against the bench. He is bouncing a small rubber ball off the floor and cupboard in front of him and catching it before repeating the action constantly. John comes in.**

**JOHN: Got your message.**

**Sherlock catches the ball and holds on to it.**

**SHERLOCK: The computer code is key to this. If we find it, we can use it – beat Moriarty at his own game.**

**JOHN: What d’you mean, “use it”?**

**SHERLOCK: He used it to create a false identity, so we can use it to break into the records and destroy Richard Brook.**

“But that didn’t work…” Anderson said.

“That means they didn’t find it, and if Sherlock couldn’t find it…”

“It must be a fake code,” Lestrade concluded, cutting Sally off.

**JOHN: And bring back Jim Moriarty again.**

**SHERLOCK (standing up): Somewhere in 221B, somewhere – on the day of the verdict – he left it hidden.**

**He turns and faces the bench, putting both hands on the work surface. John walks to stand beside him, unconsciously mimicking his stance.**

**JOHN: Uh-huh.**

**Both of them stare ahead of them, thinking. John purses his lips then looks at Sherlock.**

**JOHN: What did he touch?**

**SHERLOCK: An apple. Nothing else.**

**He briefly drums his fingers on the bench.**

**JOHN: Did he write anything down?**

**SHERLOCK: No.**

**John hisses in a breath and looks away, racking his brains and again unconsciously mimicking his friend by drumming his own fingers on the bench. After a moment, he turns and walks across the lab, blowing the breath out again. Sherlock lifts the fingers of his right hand, hesitates for a moment, then begins to drum them again but now he’s beating out a specific rhythm and, in his mind, binary code begins to stream out from his fingers.**

“That must be it!” Anderson exclaimed excitedly. “So he _did_ find it! But…” His face fell. “Why didn’t he use it?”

**He lifts his head as John sighs heavily, unaware of Sherlock’s sharpened expression. Straightening up, Sherlock turns his back to John, takes his phone out of his pocket and begins to type a text message:**

*****

**Come and play.**

**Bart’s Hospital rooftop.**

**SH**

*****

**He pauses for a moment, then adds:**

*****

**PS. Got something**

**of yours you might**

**want back.**

“What’s he doing? Why would he want Moriarty to meet him on the roof? That’s where…” Anderson gulped, unable to finish.

*****

**Sending the message, he tucks his phone away into his jacket and then turns back towards the bench, his eyes full of thought.**

*****

**Some hours later, dawn is breaking. Sherlock is still in the same place in the lab, sitting on a stool with his feet up on the bench. He is rapidly rolling the rubber ball from side to side across the bench, his fingers flickering rapidly over the top of the ball. John has sat on a stool at a nearby bench and he has his head down on his folded arms, asleep. His phone rings. Lifting his head tiredly, he groans and answers the phone.**

**JOHN: Yeah, speaking.**

**He listens for a moment.**

**JOHN (shocked): Er, what?**

**He gets to his feet.**

**JOHN: What happened? Is she okay? (He listens.) Oh my God. Right, yes, I’m coming.**

**He switches the phone off.**

**SHERLOCK: What is it?**

**JOHN: Paramedics. Mrs. Hudson – she’s been shot.**

Mrs. Hudson furrowed her eyebrows as everyone looked at her. “When was this? I was never shot, John.”

**SHERLOCK: What? How?**

“He looks completely unconcerned. He knows that Mrs. Hudson was completely fine the whole time,” Lestrade surmised.

John made a fist and slammed it down on the armrest. “He was just trying to get rid of me so he could go after Moriarty alone! That *******!”

**JOHN (frantically): Well, probably one of the killers you managed to attract... Jesus. Jesus. She’s dying, Sherlock. Let’s go.**

**He turns towards the door.**

**SHERLOCK (disinterestedly): You go. I’m busy.**

**John turns back towards him, his face appalled.**

**JOHN: Busy?**

**SHERLOCK: Thinking. I need to think.**

**JOHN: You need to...? Doesn’t she mean anything to you? You once half-killed a man because he laid a finger on her.**

**SHERLOCK (shrugging): She’s my landlady.**

**JOHN (furiously): She’s dying... (** **He flails a hand in front of himself in utter disbelief at Sherlock’s attitude.)** **You machine.**

“It’s part of his act,” Lestrade realized. “He’s pushing us all away because of Moriarty.”

“Why would he do that?” Mrs. Hudson asked.

“Maybe he was trying to protect John,” the DI suggested with a shrug. “It doesn’t really make much sense otherwise. Why would he push everyone away right before jumping off that rooftop? He even reached out to Molly, so he’s obviously got something planned…but what?”

**He looks down, shaking his head.**

**JOHN: Sod this. Sod this. (He heads towards the door.) You stay here if you want, on your own.**

**SHERLOCK: Alone is what I have. Alone protects me.**

**JOHN (opening the door and looking back at him angrily): No. Friends protect people.**

**He storms out of the room. Sherlock lifts his gaze towards the door. A moment later his phone trills a text alert. He reaches into his pocket and looks at the message:**

*****

**I’m waiting...**

**JM**

*****

**Taking his feet off the bench and standing up, he walks across the lab buttoning his jacket. He picks up his coat, opens the door and leaves the room.**

“Here it comes… The final showdown,” Anderson said quietly as the screen blackened. Obviously, the next part would be the last.

Sally slapped him. “This isn’t a movie, you know! There is no _final showdown_! This is real life!”

Anderson gestured to the screen. “Close enough! Besides, we found Moriarty’s dead body on that roof anyway. He shot himself, from what I saw of the scene. I assumed Sherlock just made it look like that before realizing the truth… Now it all makes sense! Moriarty was the one who forced Sherlock to jump!”

“But how?” John asked. “Sherlock gave me his suicide note, and he wouldn’t have any reason to do that! Moriarty would’ve had nothing to threaten him with if he was forcing him to kill himself anyway!” He paused. “Something about this suddenly doesn’t add up…”

Lestrade leaned back. “I was thinking that too, John. I guess we’ll find out in the next part.”

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	49. 2x3 Part 8 The Reichenbach Fall

The foreboding words lit up across the blank screen. _“Welcome to the final part of this viewing. Unfortunately, I have not yet decided what is going to happen to all of you once we’re done. I guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”_

Anderson gulped. “Um…what’s that supposed to mean?” he asked. His eyes darted at the others, hoping that they would have more sense of the meaning behind the frightening words.

John shrugged. He seemed to have a permanent frown stitched across his lips, and his jaw was clenched. “I’m not sure. I’m more worried about what happens before that; I’m not keen to re-witness my best friend’s death.”

Several of the people around him winced, thinking about the same thing. Most hadn’t even seen the event – only heard about it, and they really weren’t looking forward to viewing it with the same closeness as the rest of the cases had been up until this point.

“Might as well get this over with. Who knows, maybe we’ll learn something from this,” Lestrade said.

“What could we possibly learn from him jumping off a roof?” Anderson question.

Sally smacked him over the head. “I dunno, maybe _why_ he did it! He’s not a fraud like we thought so that reason’s out-”

“Which is exactly what he told me before he jumped,” John interjected with a downcast expression.

“Yeah. So, if he wasn’t a fraud and he’s too proud to just jump because Moriarty ruined his life, why else would he do it?”

Mycroft scoffed. “For once, Sergeant Donovan, you make a good point. My brother did not jump off that building because he was a fraud, nor does he care enough about others’ opinions to do it for that.”

“Then why did he do it?” Anderson looked at Mycroft but quickly looked away, gulping again as Mycroft levelled him with a sharp glare. He shut his mouth, nearly biting his tongue as he did.

Before anyone could get another word in, the next scene began.

**On the roof of the hospital, daylight has come. Jim Moriarty – now back in a typical smart suit and overcoat and with his hair slicked back – calmly sits on the raised ledge at the edge of the roof with his phone in his hand while The Bee Gees’ “Stayin’ Alive” plays from it. He doesn’t look at Sherlock as he comes onto the roof and walks towards him.**

**JIM: Ah. Here we are at last – you and me, Sherlock, and our problem – the final problem.**

**He holds the phone up higher.**

**JIM: Stayin’ alive! It’s so boring, isn’t it?**

**Angrily he switches off the phone.**

**JIM: It’s just… (he holds his hand out flat with the palm down and skims it slowly through the air level to the roof) …staying.**

“Then why does he listen to that song so often?” Anderson whispered. He just had the urge to speak his confusion aloud, even if no one answered him.

**He pulls his hand back and briefly sinks his head into it while Sherlock paces around the roof in front of him.**

**JIM: All my life I’ve been searching for distractions. You were the best distraction and now I don’t even have you. Because I’ve beaten you.**

**Sherlock’s head turns sharply towards him as he continues to pace.**

**JIM: And you know what? In the end, it was easy.**

**Sherlock stops and folds his hands behind his back.**

**JIM (quietly, disappointed): It was easy. Now I’ve got to go back to playing with the ordinary people. And it turns out you’re ordinary just like all of them.**

“Sherlock is hardly ordinary,” Mrs. Hudson said haughtily. She never liked that rude man, but now, she _really_ wasn’t liking him. At least he would die soon if she remembered correctly.

**He lowers his head again and rubs his face before looking up at Sherlock.**

**JIM: Ah well.**

**He stands up and walks closer, then starts to pace slowly around the detective.**

**JIM: Did you almost start to wonder if I was real? Did I nearly get you?**

**SHERLOCK: Richard Brook.**

**JIM: Nobody seems to get the joke, but you do.**

“What joke?” Lestrade asked as he and the other Yarders narrowed their eyes and furrowed their brows. Molly, Mrs. Hudson, and John were similarly confused.

**SHERLOCK: Of course.**

**JIM: Attaboy.**

**SHERLOCK: Rich Brook in German is Reichen Bach – the case that made my name.**

Their eyes suddenly widened.

“How did we miss that?” Sally exclaimed.

“Because my brother is right; you’re all idiots,” Mycroft said in a casual tone.

**JIM (in a fake American accent): Just tryin’ to have some fun.**

**Continuing to pace around him, he looks down at Sherlock’s hands and sees that he is tapping out a rhythm with his fingers.**

**JIM: Good. You got that too.**

**SHERLOCK: Beats like digits.**

**Flashback to Jim sitting at 221B drumming his fingers on his knee.**

**SHERLOCK: Every beat is a one; every rest is a zero. Binary code. That’s why all those assassins tried to save my life. It was hidden on me; hidden inside my head – a few simple lines of computer code that can break into any system.**

**JIM: I told all my clients: last one to Sherlock is a sissy.**

**SHERLOCK (gesturing to his own head): Yes, but now that it’s up here, I can use it to alter all the records. I can kill Rich Brook and bring back Jim Moriarty.**

**Jim gazes at him for a moment, then turns away with a disappointed look on his face.**

**JIM: No, no, no, no, no, this is too easy.**

**He buries his head in his hands.**

**JIM: This is too easy.**

**Lowering his hands, he turns back to Sherlock.**

**JIM: There is no key, DOOFUS!**

Sally and Anderson were in shock.

“He called Sherlock a doofus…” Anderson muttered. “He treats Sherlock like Sherlock treated us – like he’s dumb.”

“I guess that also explains why Sherlock couldn’t reverse the damage that Moriarty caused,” Lestrade observed, “but then how did he break into all of those places if there was no code?” What could possibly be cleverer than coming up with a computer code that could hack all of those places and more? For the life of him, he couldn’t figure it out.

**He screams the last word into Sherlock’s face.**

**JIM: Those digits are meaningless. They’re utterly meaningless.**

**Sherlock can’t hide the confusion on his face.**

**JIM: You don’t really think a couple of lines of computer code are gonna crash the world around our ears? I’m disappointed.**

**He turns away and lumbers across the roof, making his voice sound moronic as he continues speaking.**

**JIM: I’m disappointed in you, ordinary Sherlock.**

**SHERLOCK: But the rhythm…**

“It’s so weird to see Sherlock make a mistake,” Sally muttered to Anderson.

“I know. After seeing him solve so many cases – and seeing his thoughts jumping so far – it’s so hard to believe that he wouldn’t figure that out.”

Sally’s face paled. “Moriarty is just that good…”

**JIM: “Partita number one.” Thank you, Johann Sebastian Bach.**

Lestrade frowned again. “They were talking about Bach when he visited. Why didn’t Sherlock recognize the rhythm?”

“Just because he plays Bach, I doubt even Sherlock would know every rhythm in every piece,” Molly mumbled thoughtfully.

After a moment of considering her point, Lestrade shrugged, accepting it.

**SHERLOCK: But then how did…**

**JIM (speaking over him): Then how did I break into the Bank, to the Tower, to the Prison?**

**He turns and spreads his arms wide.**

**JIM: Daylight robbery. All it takes is some willing participants.**

**In a flashback at the White Tower, Jim selects the Crown icon on his phone. A message is automatically sent to the man in the surveillance room who hasn’t gone to make tea. He lifts his own phone to see the message: “it’s showtime!” then types on his keyboard and the alarms begin to sound as the security screens go blank. He gets up from the desk and hurries off, presumably to close the security door that will shut Jim into the Crown Jewels display room.**

**JIM: I knew you’d fall for it. That’s your weakness – you always want everything to be clever. Now, shall we finish the game? One final act. Glad you chose a tall building – nice way to do it.**

The Yarders all nodded in understanding. Sherlock’s weakness – always wanting the cleverest solution; that made sense. He’d expected Moriarty to be clever enough to come up with such a versatile computer code – they all did – and that was their downfall. They’d dismissed the “old school” method of just paying the right people off to do his bidding.

**Sherlock has been staring blankly into the distance. Now he sounds bewildered.**

**SHERLOCK: Do it? Do – do what?**

Just then, Lestrade furrowed his eyebrows. “Wait,” he said. “Sherlock went to Molly before all this saying he might die. He was _expecting_ this to happen, so why is he acting so confused? Hmmm…”

**He blinks as it becomes clearer to him and he turns towards Jim.**

**SHERLOCK: Yes, of course. My suicide.**

Everyone winced. Their fears had been confirmed; the suicide was Moriarty’s plan all along. Ruin his life, and then end his life. He would die in disgrace.

**JIM: “Genius detective proved to be a fraud.” I read it in the paper, so it must be true. I love newspapers. Fairytales.**

**Sherlock walks to the edge of the roof and leans forward, looking over the side to the ground below. Jim walks to stand beside him and looks over the side as well.**

They all held their breaths, even though they knew Moriarty wouldn’t push him. That would be too easy.

**JIM: And pretty Grimm ones too.**

Sally gasped as she inhaled. “Did he just make a pun at a time like this?”

“Yes, and it wasn’t even a clever one,” Molly answered.

**He turns his head and looks ominously at Sherlock.**

*****

**221B. A taxi pulls up outside and John jumps out and hurries towards the door, scrabbling for his keys. Hurrying inside, he sees the tattooed bald workman standing at the top of his stepladder just in front of the stairs, drilling a hole into the wall. Mrs. Hudson is standing nearby watching him. As John runs towards her, she jolts in startlement, having not heard his approach over the sound of the drill.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Oh, God, John! You made me jump!**

**JOHN (staring at her in confusion): But…**

**MRS. HUDSON: Is everything okay now with the police? Has, um, Sherlock sorted it all out?**

**John stares for a moment longer and then it suddenly sinks in.**

“We already knew that she was okay, since she’s here with us,” Lestrade said, “but it sure took you too long to figure that out.” He turned to his friend. “Who even told you that she was shot?”

“And who do you reckon sent that message to him? Moriarty or Sherlock?” Anderson interrupted.

Sally shrugged. “Wouldn’t know, but I’d put my money on Moriarty sending that message to get rid of John. He wouldn’t want anyone interrupting his _plans_.” She snarled. For someone who didn’t believe Moriarty really existed, she certainly did hate him for killing a man she’d also hated. Did that make any sense? Sally didn’t care. She hated Moriarty more than Sherlock and that was good enough for her. (Perhaps it was the guilt talking.)

**JOHN (softly, his voice full of horror): Oh my God.**

**He turns around and runs outside, looking up and down the street frantically. Luckily, he immediately sees what he needs.**

**JOHN: Taxi!**

**A cab begins to pull over on the other side of the road. John chases across the road towards it.**

**JOHN: Taxi!**

**A man is standing at the side of the road having also just hailed the cab. As he leans into the front window to tell the driver his destination, John runs around the cab and pulls open the rear door, talking even as he scrambles inside.**

**JOHN: No, no, no, no, police! …Sort of.**

“Really, John?” Lestrade asked, casting him a side-eye.

John shrugged helplessly.

“I guess it couldn’t be helped.” Lestrade sighed.

“And it _was_ an emergency,” Anderson added.

**MAN (walking away angrily): Oh, thanks, mate – thanks a lot!**

Sally snorted. “But he’s still an ***.”

*****

**BART’S ROOFTOP. The two men have turned towards each other at the edge of the roof.**

**SHERLOCK: I can still prove that you created an entirely false identity.**

**JIM (wearily exasperated): Oh, just kill yourself. It’s a lot less effort.**

Everyone flinched, even Mycroft.

**Sherlock turns away, pacing distractedly.**

**JIM: Go on. For me.**

**He makes his voice into a high-pitched squeal for the next word.**

**JIM: Pleeeeeease?**

**In a sudden movement, Sherlock grabs him by the collar of his coat with both hands and spins him around so that Jim’s back is to the drop. He stares into his face and then shoves him back one step nearer the edge. Jim looks at him with interest as Sherlock’s breathing becomes shorter.**

Sally scowled. “To be completely honest, I woulda done that, too. Bloody annoying, that was.”

**SHERLOCK: You’re insane.**

**Jim blinks.**

**JIM: You’re just getting that now?**

**Sherlock shoves him further back, now holding him over the edge. Jim whoops almost triumphantly and gazes back at him with no fear in his eyes, holding his hands out wide and committing himself to Sherlock’s grasp.**

**JIM: Okay, let me give you a little extra incentive.**

Everyone leaned forward. This was a question on all of their minds. Why would Sherlock jump? He had no reason to. He wasn’t a fraud; he could fix their opinions, so why would he do it?

**Sherlock frowns. Jim’s voice becomes more savage.**

**JIM: Your friends will die if you don’t.**

Everyone froze.

“What?” Sally shrieked. She and Anderson met eyes. _That_ was why he jumped? He’d done it to save his friends? They couldn’t believe it. When it had happened, back before this whole _watching Sherlock’s life story_ had begun, they’d believed it was because they were right. Because Sherlock was just the worst sort of person, who would commit crimes and pretend to solve them to prove himself to be clever. But, wow… Now they knew they were completely wrong. He didn’t jump because he was a fraud; he did it to protect his friends – that was something they’d never have believed until now. Anderson was sure he still didn’t believe it.

Lestrade, John, Mrs. Hudson, and Molly had all but broken down over the news. Their poor Sherlock. They’d suspected that it had to be something of the sort – something that Moriarty could hold over his head even more so than his own death and social ruin.

Finally, Mycroft, of course, reacted the least, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t react. His whole body seized up, fists clenched, jaw tightened, eye twitching. _Sherlock’s friends would die_. That was so familiar and yet different. Why always his brother? His little brother, who, despite what everyone thought, he cared a lot for – in his own way.

Lestrade was so deep in his distress that he almost missed Mycroft’s reaction, but he caught it before the latter reaffirmed his blank mask.

**Fear begins to creep into Sherlock’s eyes.**

**SHERLOCK: John.**

**JIM: Not just John. (In a whisper) Everyone.**

**SHERLOCK: Mrs. Hudson.**

**JIM (in a whisper, with a delighted smile): Everyone.**

**SHERLOCK: Lestrade.**

Lestrade’s heart clenched. Sherlock really _did_ care about him. Sherlock considered him a friend. And he’d _betrayed_ him.

**JIM: Three bullets; three gunmen; three victims. There’s no stopping them now.**

“He said three bullets, but why isn’t Molly included in that? Not that I wanted her to be included, but why did Moriarty miss her?” Anderson asked.

“Misplaced affection from when he pretended to date her to get to Sherlock?” Sally suggested.

**Furiously, Sherlock pulls Jim back upwards to safety. Jim stares into his face.**

**JIM: Unless my people see you jump.**

**Sherlock gazes past him, breathing heavily and appearing lost in horror. Jim shakes himself free of his grasp and smiles triumphantly.**

**JIM: You can have me arrested; you can torture me; you can do anything you like with me; but nothing’s gonna prevent them from pulling the trigger. Your only three friends in the world will die…unless…**

**SHERLOCK: …unless I kill myself – complete your story.**

**Jim nods and smiles ecstatically.**

**JIM: You’ve gotta admit that’s sexier.**

Molly growled again, her fingernails making crescent moons on her white palms.

**SHERLOCK (his gaze distant and lost): And I die in disgrace.**

**JIM (in a matter-of-fact tone): Of course. That’s the point of this.**

**He looks over the side and sees that someone has stopped at the benches near the bus stop below them, and several other people are in the vicinity.**

**JIM: Oh, you’ve got an audience now. Off you pop.**

**He rolls his head from side to side on his neck.**

**JIM: Go on.**

**Sherlock slowly steps past him and up onto the ledge.**

The silence in the room became palpable.

**JIM: I told you how this ends.**

**Sherlock’s breathing becomes shakier as he looks down.**

Anderson had never imagined that he would be feeling these emotions for Sherlock Holmes, of all people, but recently, he’d found himself more sorrowful than ever for the man whose life he’d ruined. How could he be so cruel? Now, Sherlock was going to die. Sherlock, who was a man he’d always tried to one-up, only to be shot down, was going to die. He was finally showing emotions, proving himself not to be a robot after all, and it just _had_ to be at a time like this – when his whole life had fallen apart around him, and he was about to jump to save his only friends in the world. Despite this, all Anderson could think was _how could I have had a part in this?_

**JIM (not even looking at him): Your death is the only thing that’s gonna call off the killers. I’m certainly not gonna do it.**

**Now he turns his head and looks up at his enemy expectantly. Sherlock blinks anxiously.**

**SHERLOCK: Would you give me…one moment, please; one moment of privacy?**

**He glances down at Jim.**

**SHERLOCK: Please?**

**Jim looks disappointed that Sherlock should be so ‘ordinary.’**

**JIM: Of course.**

**He moves away across the roof. Sherlock takes several shallow anxious breaths, then he stops breathing for a moment as his brain kicks into gear again. He lifts his gaze and his expression becomes more like the Sherlock we know while his eyes become thoughtful. Slowly a smile spreads across his face and he starts to chuckle.**

Sally gapped at the screen. “He’s…he’s gone mad!”

Lestrade chuckled, relieved as some of the tension in the room snapped. “No. He’s figured something out.”

“But what?” Anderson’s eyes swept over the two other Yarders, then the rest of the room occupants. He certainly didn’t have a clue.

**Behind him, Jim is slowly walking away across the roof, but he stops, his expression livid, when Sherlock laughs with delight. Jim spins around furiously.**

**JIM: What?**

**Sherlock continues to laugh.**

**JIM (angrily): What is it?**

**Sherlock half turns on the ledge, smiling towards him as he glares back.**

**JIM (angrily): What did I miss?**

**Sherlock hops down off the ledge and walks closer to him.**

Once Sherlock was off the ledge, the suspense was finally gone, and everyone could manage an exhale.

**SHERLOCK: “You’re not going to do it.” So the killers can be called off, then – there’s a recall code or a word or a number.**

**Now he’s the one circling his prey.**

**SHERLOCK: I don’t have to die… (his voice becomes singsong) …if I’ve got you.**

**JIM: Oh! (He laughs in relieved delight.) You think you can make me stop the order? You think you can make me do that?**

**SHERLOCK (still circling him): Yes. So do you.**

**JIM: Sherlock, your big brother and all the King’s horses couldn’t make me do a thing I didn’t want to.**

**SHERLOCK (stopping and getting into Jim’s face): Yes, but I’m not my brother, remember? I am you – prepared to do anything; prepared to burn; prepared to do what ordinary people won’t do. You want me to shake hands with you in hell? I shall not disappoint you.**

But he was not prepared to jump, and thank God for that, a few of them thought.

**Jim shakes his head slowly.**

**JIM: Naah. You talk big. Naah. You’re ordinary. You’re ordinary – you’re on the side of the angels.**

**SHERLOCK (his voice becoming more ominous): Oh, I may be on the side of the angels, but don’t think for one second that I am one of them.**

**The enemies lock eyes for a long moment while Jim tries to deduce how far Sherlock will go.**

**JIM: No, you’re not.**

**He blinks, then closes his eyes briefly. Sherlock does likewise in an unintentional mirror movement. Jim smiles and opens his eyes again.**

**JIM (softly, insanely): I see. You’re not ordinary. No. You’re me.**

**He hisses out a delighted laugh and his voice becomes more high-pitched.**

**JIM: You’re me! Thank you!**

**He lifts his right hand as if to embrace Sherlock, but then lowers it and offers it to him to shake instead.**

**JIM: Sherlock Holmes.**

**They both look down at the offered hand, then Sherlock slowly raises his own right hand and takes it.**

Sally winced. He would _shake the hand_ of the person who _ruined his life_? She may believe his deductions now – believe his genius now – but she would never understand why Sherlock Holmes did what he did.

**JIM (nodding almost frenetically, though his voice stays soft): Thank you. Bless you.**

**He blinks and lowers his gaze as if blinking back tears.**

**JIM: As long as I’m alive, you can save your friends; you’ve got a way out.**

**He continues to blink with his gaze lowered.**

**JIM: Well, good luck with that.**

**In rapid succession, he raises his eyes to Sherlock’s, grins maniacally, opens his mouth wide and pulls Sherlock closer while he reaches into his waistband with his other hand and pulls out a pistol and raises it towards his own mouth. As Sherlock instinctively pulls back, crying out in alarm, Jim sticks the muzzle into his own mouth and pulls the trigger, dropping to the roof instantly.**

“No!” Molly couldn’t believe that she was sorry that Moriarty was dead – but she was. Sherlock couldn’t save them, now. He wouldn’t have a choice but to jump – _to use their plan,_ but the others didn’t know that. To the others, Sherlock would have to die. And Molly? He was as good as dead in his grave because she didn’t know where he was or even when he was coming back. She didn’t even know if Mycroft would tell her if Sherlock died out there on his _secret mission_.

**Sherlock stares in horror as blood begins to trickle across the roof underneath Jim’s head. Jim’s eyes are fixed and open and there is a smile of victory on his face. Sherlock spins away from him, his breathing noisy and frantic as he raises his hands to his head in horror.**

**Not far away and obviously unseen by Sherlock, a man trots up a staircase and then sits down on the stairs and begins to assemble a high-powered rifle. Meanwhile, John sits anxiously in the taxi on his way back to Bart’s.**

**At 221, Mrs. Hudson gives a mug of tea to the workman who is squatting in the hallway. He takes it and smiles gratefully, and once she has moved away, he picks up one of his tools and puts it into his toolbox. Lying on top of all the other tools is a pistol with a small silencer attached to it. He raises his eyes ominously in the direction of Mrs. H as she goes back into 221A.**

**While the assassin on the staircase continues to assemble his rifle, at Scotland Yard a plain-clothed police officer in the general office looks round to Greg’s office with his eyes narrowed as the D.I. speaks on the phone.**

**LESTRADE (into phone): Yes, sir, thank you. ’Bye.**

**On the stairwell, the assassin finishes his assembly, opens the nearby window and aims his gun out of it as John’s taxi gets closer to Bart’s.**

The proof on the screen was undeniable. Sherlock had no way out. No way to stop everyone he loved die at the hands of Moriarty’s men.

“But why would the assassins threaten to kill them to get him to jump? They wanted that code, didn’t they? And Moriarty is dead.”

“Maybe they know now that the code is a fake,” Lestrade answered Sally.

**On the rooftop, Sherlock breathes shallowly and rapidly, holding his sleeve up over his mouth in horror as he turns to look again at Jim’s fixed grin. He thinks frantically for a while, then slowly turns towards the edge of the building. His breathing begins to slow as he steps up onto the ledge, blows out another breath and looks down towards the ground. In the street below, John’s taxi pulls up.**

John looked down. There was no way he wanted to see this _again_. He had to force himself to look up. Maybe there was something else he would see. Something important.

**Sherlock takes out his phone and selects a speeddial. The answering phone begins to ring below him as John gets out of the taxi and raises his phone to his ear as he trots towards the hospital.**

**JOHN: Hello?**

**SHERLOCK: John.**

**JOHN: Hey, Sherlock, you okay?**

**SHERLOCK: Turn around and walk back the way you came now.**

**JOHN: No, I’m coming in.**

**SHERLOCK (frantically): Just do as I ask. Please.**

**JOHN (turning back and looking around bewildered): Where?**

**Sherlock pauses for a moment while John walks back along the road, then speaks urgently.**

**SHERLOCK: Stop there.**

**JOHN (stopping): Sherlock?**

**SHERLOCK: Okay, look up. I’m on the rooftop.**

**John turns and looks up, his face filling with horror.**

**JOHN: Oh God.**

**SHERLOCK: I… I… I can’t come down, so we’ll… we’ll just have to do it like this.**

“Do what?” Anderson whispered to himself. He could barely get the words out past his tears as he blubbered quietly.

**JOHN (anxiously): What’s going on?**

**SHERLOCK: An apology. It’s all true.**

**JOHN: Wh-what?**

**SHERLOCK: Everything they said about me. I invented Moriarty.**

**He looks around briefly at his enemy’s grinning body lying behind him. On the ground, John stares up at his friend in disbelief.**

**JOHN: Why are you saying this?**

**Sherlock turns back to look down at him. His voice breaks.**

**SHERLOCK: I’m a fake.**

_No. No, he wasn’t._ And now everyone in this room knew it – without a doubt. Too bad it didn’t matter now.

**JOHN: Sherlock…**

**SHERLOCK (his voice becoming tearful): The newspapers were right all along. I want you to tell Lestrade; I want you to tell Mrs. Hudson, and Molly... in fact, tell anyone who will listen to you that I created Moriarty for my own purposes.**

**JOHN: Okay, shut up, Sherlock, shut up. The first time we met…the first time we met, you knew all about my sister, right?**

**SHERLOCK: Nobody could be that clever.**

Anderson sighed, chin still trembling. “Finally, he says what I’ve been saying all along, and now I know it isn’t true…”

Sally nodded with a sharp jerk of her head. Her eyes were full of tears, but she wouldn’t let a single one fall. Sherlock wouldn’t tolerate her crying over his death.

**JOHN: You could.**

**Sherlock laughs and gazes down at his friend, a tear dripping from his chin.**

**SHERLOCK: I researched you. Before we met, I discovered everything that I could to impress you. (He sniffs quietly.) It’s a trick. Just a magic trick.**

“See?” John interrupted. He was holding back tears just like the rest of them, but he just had to get it out. “See? It’s a lie! He couldn’t have done that! Because it was a coincidence that Mike met me in the park that day. He wouldn’t have had the time to research me before we got there.” He couldn’t stop the truth from pouring from his lips. The words just _had_ to get out.

**John has his eyes closed and is shaking his head repeatedly.**

**JOHN: No. Alright, stop it now.**

**He starts to walk towards the hospital entrance.**

**SHERLOCK (urgently): No, stay exactly where you are. Don’t move.**

“What? Why?” Sally knew that there were guns on John, but why would it be so important to Sherlock that John didn’t move from that spot?

Molly knew. Mycroft, too. They knew that it was all part of the plan, but they wouldn’t tell the others.

**John stops and backs up, holding up his hand towards Sherlock in capitulation.**

**JOHN: Alright.**

**Breathing rapidly, Sherlock has his own hand stretched out towards his friend.**

**SHERLOCK: Keep your eyes fixed on me. (His voice becomes frantic.) Please, will you do this for me?**

**JOHN: Do what?**

**SHERLOCK: This phone call – it’s, er…it’s my note. It’s what people do, don’t they – leave a note?**

**John shakes his head, momentarily taking his phone from his ear as the stress of what he’s beginning to understand hits him, then he raises it again, his voice shaky.**

**JOHN: Leave a note when?**

**SHERLOCK: Goodbye, John.**

**JOHN (shaking his head): No. Don’t.**

**Sherlock gazes down at his friend for several seconds, then he lowers his arm and drops the phone onto the roof, gazing ahead of himself.**

Lestrade grit his teeth. It was coming… “Why did they have to add this intense music? We already know it’s intense!” he shouted, getting his frustrations out.

**John lowers his own phone and screams upwards.**

**JOHN: No. SHERLOCK!**

**Sherlock spreads his arms to either side and falls forward, plummeting towards the ground. John stares in utter horror.**

**JOHN: Sher...**

**A couple of seconds later the body impacts the ground.**

Everyone – including Mycroft – winced at a bone-rattling _crack_ of Sherlock’s body hitting the pavement. Or, what they assumed was Sherlock’s body. Even Mycroft, who knew that it was all fake and that his brother wasn’t really dead, had to admit that whoever spliced this footage together did an excellent job of selling his brother’s death. Even _he_ felt a jolt of pain in his chest.

The others weren’t faring so well, especially John. He was hunched over, folded in on himself as he finally let the tears fall. Before, he’d been blocked from seeing Sherlock hit the ground. Now, he wasn’t He saw the impact; he heard the _crunch!_ of bones on the sidewalk. And to think, it was all to save him and the others.

**John’s hearing whites out as his entire body focuses on getting to Sherlock as soon as he can. Sherlock had disappeared from view towards the end of his fall because a building was in the way of John’s view of him, and John now runs to the corner of the building, then slows down and stops in the middle of the road when he gets his first glimpse of the still figure lying on the wet pavement, the lower part of his body obscured by a lorry parked at the roadside. Behind John, a young man on a fast pedal cycle slams into him and sends him crashing to the ground, his head hitting the asphalt hard.**

A few people winced.

“Ow…” Molly muttered in sympathy for John.

**Groaning, he struggles to stay conscious while, nearby, people begin to run towards the body on the pavement. The lorry pulls away and a couple of medics from the hospital hurry out and start trying to prevent the onlookers from getting too close. Grimacing with pain, John rolls onto his side and looks across to the pavement where Sherlock is lying on his side with a lot of blood under his head. Slowly John hauls himself to his feet and stumbles towards him as more onlookers gather, talking excitedly about what they saw. John forces himself onwards.**

**JOHN (in a whisper): Sherlock, Sherlock…**

As the John on screen stumbled forward, silence once again fell over the viewers.

**He reaches the crowd.**

**JOHN: I’m a doctor, let me come through. Let me come through, please.**

**Some of the crowd try to hold him back but he pushes through them.**

**JOHN: No, he’s my friend. He’s my friend. Please.**

**He reaches down to take hold of Sherlock’s wrist, searching for a pulse. A woman peels his fingers off and she and another person pull him away. As he reaches towards his friend again, more medics arrive with a wheeled stretcher.**

**JOHN (frantically): Please, let me just…**

**The impact of the shock and the bang on his head begins to take effect and his knees give out. As he slumps to the floor supported by a couple of onlookers, two people gently roll Sherlock onto his back revealing his blood-stained face and wide staring eyes. John groans in utter despair.**

A few people had to look away from the blood-soaked face of the man they knew. Mrs. Hudson sobbed noisily into a handkerchief, doubled over as her whole body trembled.

**JOHN: Nggh, Jesus, no.**

**He tries to stand but sinks back again.**

**JOHN: God, no.**

**As the onlookers support him, four people lift Sherlock’s body onto the stretcher and then rapidly wheel it away into the hospital. John stares after it, his face blank and uncomprehending. He finally manages to get to his feet and shakes off his helpers, staring blindly in the direction that his friend’s body was taken.**

**In a nearby building, a rifle sight is aimed directly at John’s head.**

“Don’t tell me he’s still going to shoot him!” Sally was utterly enraged. Sherlock had done what he wanted! What more could he want?

Lestrade sighed. He swallowed to prevent his throat from closing up with tears. “Sally, John is sitting right next to you. Of course, he wasn’t shot.”

Sally looked away, a little embarrassed. “Right.” She glanced at John, just to make sure he was still there and not bleeding out, too. She felt her chest tighten but still refused to let any tears fall. Sherlock wouldn’t want them, she knew that for sure.

**As John continues to stand in profile to the sniper, a perfect target, the assassin lifts his gun back inside the window and begins to disassemble the weapon. Packing it into his bag, he stands up and walks away.**

Several sighs of relief filled the room, staggered by sharp gasps of sorrow.

*****

**DIOGENES CLUB. Sitting in one of the chairs in the common room, Mycroft is holding a copy of “The Sun.” Its headline screams “SUICIDE OF FAKE GENIUS” and the straplines state “SUPER-SLEUTH IS DEAD” and “Fraudulent detective takes his own life”. Folding the paper and putting it down on the table beside him, he stares blankly into the distance and then folds his hands in front of his face in the prayer position.**

*****

**221B. John sits in his armchair, dressed but with his feet bare and tucked together in front of him. One hand is propping up his head and he gazes into the distance, lost and alone.**

*****

**ELLA’S OFFICE. As the rain continues to pour down, John gazes blankly at his therapist.**

**ELLA: There’s stuff that you wanted to say…**

**John opens his mouth briefly but then closes it.**

**ELLA: …but didn’t say it.**

**JOHN (his voice breaking): Yeah.**

**ELLA: Say it now.**

**JOHN (tearfully): No. (He shakes his head.) Sorry. I can’t.**

*****

**TAXI. John and Mrs. Hudson are sitting in the back of a cab as it drives into a graveyard. Mrs. Hudson is holding a bunch of flowers.**

“Well…” John said, “I…I guess we’re back at the beginning. Mrs. Hudson and I were taken from the graveyard to come here.”

Lestrade nodded. “Right back where we started,” he agreed.

**Not long afterwards, they stand beside each other in front of a black marble headstone. The flowers are now resting at the base of the headstone.**

**MRS. HUDSON: There’s all the stuff, all the science equipment. I left it all in boxes. I don’t know what needs doing. I thought I’d take it to a school.**

**She looks at John.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Would you...?**

**JOHN: I can’t go back to the flat again – not at the moment.**

That was understandable.

**She takes his arm sympathetically.**

**JOHN: I’m angry.**

**He takes a deep breath through his nose, trying not to break down. She gently pats his arm.**

**MRS. HUDSON: It’s okay, John. There’s nothing unusual in that. That’s the way he made everyone feel.**

**She gazes at the smooth black marble which simply bears the words SHERLOCK HOLMES.**

**MRS. HUDSON: All the marks on my table; and the noise – firing guns at half-past one in the morning!**

**JOHN: Yeah.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Bloody specimens in my fridge. Imagine – keeping bodies where there’s food!**

Sally turned to Mrs. Hudson. “He put body parts in _your_ fridge, too? Or are you talking about the fridge in their flat?”

Mrs. Hudson hiccoughed again, unable to answer. She was quieting down but remained too shaken to speak.

**JOHN: Yes.**

**He closes his eyes as she continues, her own voice breaking.**

**MRS. HUDSON: And the fighting! Drove me up the wall with all his carryings-on!**

**John turns to her.**

**JOHN: Yeah, listen: I-I’m not actually that angry, okay?**

Weak laughter followed his remark.

**MRS. HUDSON: Okay.**

**She turns away, pulling her arm free of his.**

**MRS. HUDSON: I’ll leave you alone to, erm… (her voice breaks again) …you know.**

**Crying, she walks away, fishing out a tissue to blow her nose. John looks down at the grave, drawing in a deep breath. He looks back over his shoulder to see that Mrs. Hudson is now out of earshot, then turns back to the grave again.**

**JOHN (thoughtfully): Um…mmm. (He pulls himself together a little.) You…you told me once that you weren’t a hero. Umm…there were times I didn’t even think you were human, but let me tell you this: you were the best man, and the most human…human being that I’ve ever known and no-one will ever convince me that you told me a lie, and so... There.**

**He blows out a breath, whimpering slightly. Looking over his shoulder again, he walks over to the headstone and puts his fingertips onto the top of it.**

**JOHN: I was so alone, and I owe you so much.**

**He takes a tearful breath.**

**JOHN: Okay.**

**He turns and starts to walk away but only reaches the foot of the grave before he turns back again.**

**JOHN: No, please, there’s just one more thing, mate, one more thing: one more miracle, Sherlock, for me. Don’t…be… (his voice breaks and fills with tears) …dead. Would you do…? Just for me, just stop it. (He gestures down at the grave.) Stop this.**

Lestrade looked at his friend sadly. “What were you expecting, John? That he’d just rise out of the grave right then and there?”

“Honestly, I would run away if that happened,” Anderson muttered.

Sally slapped him over the head.

**He sighs and lowers his head and stands there, broken. Reflected in the smooth marble of the headstone, his figure appears to have the name SHERLOCK carved directly across his chest. He lowers his head further, covers his eyes with one hand and weeps. Finally, he wipes his eyes, sniffs deeply and raises his head, coming to attention in front of his best friend. Nodding in salute to him and giving himself permission to dismiss, he turns smartly on one heel and then walks away.**

John started to stand. “Well, I guess this is done, now. Mrs. Hudson and I saw the bright flash of light right after this.”

Molly held him in his seat. “Shh,” she hushed. “There’s still more.”

John furrowed his eyebrows as the screen continued to show the graveyard. It had paused when he began speaking, but it would soon continue. Why? What was there still for them to see?

*****

**Standing some distance away under a tree and obscured from view by other headstones, Sherlock Holmes watches his best friend walk across the graveyard until he disappears from view. He looks reflective for a long moment, then turns and walks away.**

“Oh. My. God!” Sally jumped out of her seat.

The others stared, open-mouthed.

“Is…is he a ghost?” Anderson whispered, fearful. “Has he come back to haunt us?”

“No, you doofus!” Sally slapped him. “He’s not dead! He’s not…dead… He’s not dead…” She whispered the phrase over and over again, not able to believe it. How? They’d all seen it! They’d all seen it this time! How could he survive that fall?

Lestrade looked at them, tears finally falling down his face, but this time they were tears of joy. His friend wasn’t dead. He’d beaten the system. Beaten Moriarty. _Moriarty_ had been the one to die for nothing, but Sherlock? Sherlock was alive. This was _proof_ that he had survived. But how? Perhaps it had something to do with why he wanted John to stand in that spot? It was to keep John away while he staged his death. They, of course, hadn’t seen Sherlock clearly when he hit the ground, and if Lestrade had learned anything from watching all of Sherlock’s cases, it was that if it wasn’t shown on the screen, there was a reason. He’d originally assumed it was so that they wouldn’t have to watch entirely, but then why would they show him falling at all? There was something questionable going on, and it had to do with…

Molly. Lestrade’s eyes widened. Sherlock had gone to Molly before his fall. He’d said he was going to die, but then on the roof with Moriarty, he’d acted confused. _Acted_. It must’ve been a trick. He’d planned for this. _That_ was why he’d been the one to tell Moriarty where to meet him – it was so he could be prepared to “die” his way.

Lestrade wasn’t the only one theorizing. Anderson, of course, was as well. Sherlock wasn’t dead. He hadn’t caused him to die. He hadn’t played a role in the death of the detective who’d spited him for so long. But how was he still alive after that fall? He just _had_ to know. He began running over scenarios in his head, trying to figure it out. If it was the last thing he did, he would figure it out.

“So, what now?” Molly asked. She had her arms around Mrs. Hudson, keeping a firm grip around the still-trembling woman.

She, along with Mycroft, were the least affected by Sherlock’s death, and now it made sense to Lestrade. She’d known all along that it was a fake. “Maybe you could start by explaining what you know about Sherlock faking his own death.” He levelled her with a look. “You _did_ help plan it after all.”

Molly was suddenly a deer in the headlights. Everyone’s eyes had turned to her. “Um…”

“Wait! There’s another message!” Anderson interrupted. He read them aloud.

_“You’ve reached the end. Was the truth surprising? I’m sure it was. Sherlock is alive and he will continue to solve cases.”_

John furrowed his eyebrows. He blinked to clear the tears. “But…what do we do now?”

The words changed. _“I still haven’t decided, so I guess you’re all stuck here until I do. Please just be patient.”_

“You could just send us back. What else could you possibly do with us?” John asked.

No words answered him.

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	50. Intermission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, Readers! We've gone through the first two seasons, so now the characters are back to the point in time they started at. There will be a short intermission before we continue on with the characters watching the future episodes.  
> In the full work, I've only gotten to "His Last Vow", but I'm hoping to continue with that soon enough. *Crossing my fingers to work on it tomorrow!

“It feels like we’ve been stuck in here for hours!” John yelled as he continued to pace. “When are we going to go back? We’ve seen everything! And I want to get out of here so I can find Sherlock and sock ‘im in the jaw for making me think he was dead!”

Anderson was frenzied. “Would your punch even hit him? I mean, he’s a ghost, isn’t he? Oh, my God, if we go back will he show up at the Yard to haunt us?”

Sally just shook her head at her co-worker, thoroughly disappointed by his panic. Perhaps he’d just gone and snapped. He’d reached his limit. “He won’t haunt us, you bloody idiot!”

“How do you know?”

“Because he’s not dead! Clearly! He must’ve faked his death; that’s what he was planning with Molly before he went and invited his mortal enemy onto the roof of a tall building!”

Anderson paused, mouth hanging open as if to respond, but no sound came out. “Oh…”

Lestrade couldn’t believe that those two were on his payroll.

Molly and Mrs. Hudson were huddled together in one corner of the room, discussing some secret topic or another. Molly was actually just reassuring Mrs. Hudson about Sherlock’s survival, and, because the old lady worried, was explaining in detail what they’d planned together with Mycroft to ensure Sherlock keep his life. Mostly, the old landlady was heartbroken and touched by Sherlock’s love and care for her and his other two friends, sacrificing his life for theirs – luckily without actually sacrificing himself.

Mycroft was, of course, the most collected of the bunch, simply reclined in his chair. He’d gotten another plate of biscuits from their mysterious captor and was spending time munching away at them, the tray coveted from the others. Between idle bites, he sipped from a small mug of tea.

John threw himself back down in his seat. “I really don’t know what the point is.”

“So you’ve said,” Mycroft replied.

“Yeah, and I don’t see what else we could be here for unless we really have been kidnapped and are being held ransom.”

“I’m sure that’s not it,” Mycroft assured him, “None of our captor’s actions thus far have led me to believe that ransom is their objective.”

“Then what is their objective?” Lestrade asked, turning to them for the hope of more brain cells.

“To enlighten us, of course. We’ve seen it all along. There are things that not all of us know that this person desperately wants us to see.”

“But we’ve seen it all, so why keep us?” Lestrade inquired, furrowing his eyebrows.

“That’s what I keep asking!”

“Quiet, John,” Mycroft said.

 _“I’m so glad you asked!”_ the words exploded onto the blank screen with such emphasis that even without Anderson’s imitation of a hatchling pterodactyl, they would’ve noticed it. Molly and Mrs. Hudson came out of their corner, turning their attention to the screen. _“I’ve discussed the possibilities with my associates, and we’ve finally come to a decision about what to do with you next!”_

“And that is?” John asked impatiently.

_“You’ll all be watching future events, of course!”_

“The future?” Anderson parroted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means we’re watching things that haven’t happened yet, doofus!” Sally scolded.

Anderson glared. “I know that! I mean, how is that supposed to work? It hasn’t happened yet! Things like that only happen in fiction!”

“Oh, and the other things that have happened in this room _don’t_ belong in fiction! Whoever has us locked up in here can make tea and biscuits appear out of thin air! How is that normal?”

“Right. You’re right.”

_“Anyway, now that you’re done arguing about what is possible and what isn’t, let me continue. Our videos will commence two years after we left off because nothing important happened in the meantime. Unless you count John trying and failing to move on from Sherlock…”_

“Hey!” John protested.

_“But, well, you said it yourself, nothing ever happens to you (without Sherlock, it seems!). Unfortunately, Sherlock will not be joining you for this next set of episodes because that would just be awkward, and you will react less to what happens with him in the room. This is an experiment, so we don’t really want to change any of the variables! My associates also discussed whether to add Mary, but we decided, for the sake of simplicity, to leave her out.”_

Anderson just had to interrupt again. “Who’s Mary?”

_“Never you mind. You’ll figure it out soon. We just need a few more minutes to set everything up, and then we’ll continue, please hold!”_

As soon as Mycroft finished reading the message aloud, the words vanished and hold music flooded the room.

“Well, great,” John said with a shrug. “Not only are we not leaving, but we’re going to see what’s going to happen in the future (somehow!) and how everything just continues to go downhill.”

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	51. 3x1 Part 1 The Empty Hearse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From now on, I will only publish two chapters a day, because I've written the chapters twice as long. This means that instead of eight parts per episode, there are only four parts (excluding deleted scenes).  
> Also, I've already told a few people this in the comments, but this story was already written and posted on Wattpad under my username up to "His Last Vow". I went into a slump after that so the story has been on hiatus ever since. When we get up to that point, please bear with me.

“I don’t think I’m ready for this to happen,” Molly said. “How will we even watch the future, especially two years from now?”

“Well, whoever put us here hasn’t obeyed any laws of what’s possible and what isn’t yet, so I think we should just let it happen, dear,” Mrs. Hudson said.

“Why even wait two years, though? We already know that Sherlock is alive – since you’re all convinced that he’s not a ghost. He must’ve survived that fall somehow. Did he not come back? Did he let us all believe that he was dead for two whole years?” Anderson cried. He’d already run his hands through his hair several times. The ragged, messy look perfectly matched the near insanity in his eyes.

**As John Watson’s anguished cry of “Sherlock!” rings in the air, John himself approaches Sherlock Holmes’ headstone. We see brief flashback clips of Sherlock and Jim Moriarty on the rooftop of Bart’s Hospital, then of John arriving by taxi at the hospital and Sherlock standing on the roof’s edge talking to him by phone.**

**SHERLOCK: It’s a trick. Just a magic trick.**

**JOHN: No. All right, stop it now.**

**He starts to walk towards the hospital.**

**SHERLOCK: No, stay exactly where you are.**

**John backs up.**

**SHERLOCK: Don’t move.**

**JOHN: All right.**

“Why is it just recapping what we already saw?” Sally asked. “We already know how he died…or not.” He looked down. “And I thought this was supposed to be the future!”

The screen was interrupted yet again by a message, _“Just be patient, Sally. Patience is a virtue that you need to learn…among others.”_

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

Unfortunately for Sally, there was no reply. The scene continued to play.

**They seem to hold out their hands towards each other.**

**SHERLOCK: Keep your eyes fixed on me. Please, will you do this for me?**

**JOHN: Do what?**

**SHERLOCK: This phone call – it’s ... it’s my note.**

**But now we’re seeing new footage. Behind Sherlock, two men are dragging the body of Jim Moriarty across the roof towards the door. Sherlock doesn’t react to them and continues to concentrate on John.**

“Wait a minute…” Lestrade muttered, leaning forward. “We didn’t see that before.”

Anderson squinted as well. “Who are those people taking away Moriarty’s body?”

**SHERLOCK: It’s what people do, don’t they? Leave a note?**

**JOHN: Leave a note when?**

**SHERLOCK: Goodbye, John.**

**JOHN: No. Don’t.**

**The men drag Jim’s body into a service elevator inside the hospital and lay it on the floor. While Sherlock continues to look down towards John, one of the men opens a case. Inside is a latex mask which is a perfect replica of Sherlock’s face.**

Everyone winced as soon as the case opened to show the dead-looking face mask.

“Oh, my God!” Sally shrieked. “That’s horrifying!”

Meanwhile, Mycroft and Molly were both frowning. That wasn’t how it happened. What were they seeing? And…if that wasn’t what happened, how trustworthy was the rest of the footage now? They would just have to wait and find out.

**The other man closes the lift doors, while the first man takes a small bottle from the case and, using tweezers, carefully extracts a blue soft contact lens.**

**On the roof, Sherlock drops his phone behind him and stares intensely ahead of himself as John screams, “Sherlock!” up at him.**

**In the elevator, Jim’s dead open eyes are now blue instead of brown. The man takes the mask out of the case and lays it over Jim’s face, then picks up a scalpel and reaches forward to start lifting the closed eyes on the mask. The second man starts to apply a dark curly wig to Jim’s slicked-down hair.**

Anderson shuddered, feeling his stomach churn. He couldn’t help but grow excited, though. “So _that’s_ how they did it! They used Moriarty’s dead body disguised as Sherlock!”

**On the roof, Sherlock spreads his arms and falls forward. John stares in horror, and a man on a pushbike slams into him from behind, sending him crashing to the ground. Sherlock plummets towards the ground, but now it’s clear that he is attached to a bungee cord.**

“Aha!” Anderson exclaimed.

Lestrade just sighed. “Where would he get a bungee cord and when would he have had the time to prepare it, Anderson? And surely someone else would’ve seen that!”

**While John lies on the ground still trying to catch his breath, Molly Hooper watches from a window of Bart’s as Sherlock plunges past, the bungee cord trailing behind him. He heads towards the pavement, but the cord stops his fall when it reaches its full extension. Sherlock’s breath whooshes out of him ... then the elastic begins to contract, and Sherlock is yanked skywards. Molly gasps as he shoots back into view, flailing to change his direction and, before she can react, he wraps his arms around his head and kicks his way through the window in front of her. She cringes back from the breaking glass and Sherlock lands on his feet and quickly unclips the bungee cord from his waist.**

“We would have seen if a window was broken,” Lestrade protested. “This can’t be real.”

“All of the other stuff was real – or so you say,” Sally countered. “Why would it suddenly show us something that’s fake?”

“The rest of it was all real, I assure you,” Mycroft said. His tone was cold and crisp.

**It is whipped out of the window and disappears from view and Sherlock straightens his coat, ruffles his hands through his hair and marches over to Molly, taking her head in his hands and kissing her deeply for a couple of seconds.**

Sally screamed again, this time shouting a few choice words.

Lestrade glared. “Sally, if I were you, I’d watch my mouth.” The shock of her explicit swearing definitely outweighed the shock of Sherlock Frenching Molly.

“But sir…!” she trailed off, unable to form words.

Meanwhile, Molly was frozen in her seat. _That_ definitely hadn’t happened. What was this?

**She reaches up to hold his head, but he pulls away, gives her a long last look and then leaves the room. She watches him go with a girly smile on her face.**

**Downstairs, the two men are dragging Jim’s body – now perfectly disguised as Sherlock’s, including being dressed in a Belstaff coat and blue scarf – out onto the street. Nearby, a man wearing a fur-lined hooded jacket is approaching John. The men put the body into position on the pavement and one of them squirts fake blood onto the paving stones around the head. Other people – various fake medical staff and passers-by – are running into position around the body. The jacket-wearing man walks over to John as more people run towards the scene. John gets up onto his knees, seeing the passers-by running over to the body and pointing upwards as they appear to discuss what they just saw. John gets to his feet, and the man steps into his way.**

“This didn’t happen, either,” John said, frowning. “And what’s with the music?”

**DERREN: John.**

**It’s none other than Derren Brown, the famous illusionist and hypnotist! He puts his hand onto John’s shoulder.**

**DERREN: John. Look at me. Look at me.**

**John drags his eyes away from the scene of Sherlock’s fall and looks at Derren, whose face is a little fuzzy so close-up. Derren puts his fingers over John’s face.**

**DERREN: And sleep!**

**John collapses forward, his eyes closing. Derren supports him and gently lowers him to the ground.**

**DERREN: Right the way down, right the way deep, right the way sound asleep. That’s right. That’s good – keeping my voice just there in the centre of your head and floating all the way around you.**

**While he’s speaking, he reaches down to John’s wrist and adjusts his watch, turning it back a few minutes. He straightens up and looks down at John.**

John’s frown deepened. “I would’ve noticed by now if my watch was a few minutes behind, too. I know I’m not as smart as Sherlock, and I was panicking, but afterward, I would’ve noticed.”

“Right,” Lestrade agreed. “This is like some fantasized version of what happened that day, like someone trying to make sense of how Sherlock survived.” He scratched his chin. “It’s definitely elaborate enough, but not as clever as Sherlock, I’m afraid. He’d go for something much simpler, much cleaner. This is just a mess of everything thrown together by someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing and just keeps trying to fix the holes they’ve created.”

**DERREN: And you will awaken in three, two, one...**

**John starts to move on the ground.**

**DERREN: ...zero.**

**Flipping up his hood to cover his head again, he walks away. John rolls over onto his side, grimacing with pain. The crowd continues to gather around the body and John – unaware of the passage of time since he first was knocked over by the bike – clambers to his feet and stumbles towards the pavement.**

**Inside the hospital, Sherlock walks towards a set of double doors.**

**John hurries over to the crowd and tries to push his way through them, while they do all they can to hold him back.**

**JOHN (anguished): Let me come through, please. He’s my friend.**

**Sherlock half-turns as he walks, taking one last look behind him.**

**Outside, John’s knees give out and he half-collapses, supported by some of the bystanders. The wrist of the dead man falls limply out of John’s grasp. Paramedics arrive with a stretcher and load the body onto it while John watches in anguish. The stretcher is wheeled away; and Sherlock pushes his way through the doors and walks around the corner, disappearing from view.**

**LESTRADE (offscreen): Bollocks!**

Everyone jumped at Lestrade’s sudden exclamation.

**The dramatic action-movie music which has played all through the previous scene stops, and suddenly we’re in a different part of London. Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade and Doctor Anderson – the latter sporting a scruffy beard and with unwashed hair – are standing at a mobile coffee stall.**

Lestrade nodded, realizing what had just happened. The whole thing had been visualizing Anderson’s fantastical recreation of that day, so he was indeed correct – someone trying to figure out how Sherlock survived.

**ANDERSON: No-no-no-no! It’s obvious! That’s how he did it! It’s obvious!**

Sally took the liberty of smacking Anderson over the head. “You’re still an imbecile in the future!”

**LESTRADE: Derren Brown?! Let it go. Sherlock’s dead.**

**ANDERSON: But is he?**

**LESTRADE: There was a body. It was him. It was definitely him. Molly Hooper laid him out.**

**ANDERSON: No, she’s lying. It was Jim Moriarty’s body with a mask on!**

Sally spun around to glare at Molly. “Well, now we know that she was lying, but not about that.”

**LESTRADE: A mask?!**

**Anderson nods eagerly.**

**LESTRADE: A bungee rope, a mask, Derren Brown. Two years and the theories keep getting more stupid. How many more’ve you got for me today?**

“How many crazy theories could he possibly come up with in two years?” Molly wondered, eyeing the crazy-looking man seat across the room from her.

“A lot,” Sally grumbled. While he hadn’t ever made crazy theories about Sherlock before, she’d heard her fair share of his stupid ideas.

**ANDERSON: Well, you know the paving slabs in that whole area – even the exact ones that he landed on – you know they were all...**

**LESTRADE (interrupting): Guilt. (He looks sternly at Anderson.) That’s all this is. You pushed us all into thinking that Sherlock was a fraud, you and Donovan.**

“So people don’t think he’s a fraud in the future?”

**Anderson looks down sadly.**

**LESTRADE: You did this, and it killed him, and he’s staying dead. Do you honestly believe that if you have enough stupid theories, it’s gonna change what really happened?**

**Taking his cup of coffee with him, he starts to walk away.**

**ANDERSON: I believe in Sherlock Holmes.**

“Yeah, and for once he was right,” Molly said, laughing.

Everyone turned to her.

“Sherlock is alive, isn’t he? Anderson was right about something.”

Anderson spun around to look at Sally. “Ha! You see? I was right! I was the only one who believed that Sherlock was still alive!”

She just rolled her eyes. “Yeah, and you also thought that he would smooch Molly while orchestrating his own death.”

Anderson blushed and looked down, shutting his mouth to hold in any further comments.

**Greg turns around.**

**LESTRADE: Yeah, well that won’t bring him back.**

**He continues on towards where several camera crews are filming reporters.**

**REPORTER 1 (into his crew’s camera): ...that after extensive police investigations, Richard Brook did indeed prove to be the creation of James Moriarty...**

“So they’re just now figuring it out. Took the fools long enough,” Mrs. Hudson huffed. “If they’d done this in the first place, Sherlock would still be here, instead of out doing who knows what on his own.”

**REPORTER 2 (into a different camera): ...amidst unprecedented scenes, there was uproar in court as Sherlock Holmes was vindicated and cleared of all suspicion...**

**REPORTER 3: ...but sadly, all this comes too late for the detective who became something of a celebrity two years ago...**

**REPORTER 1: ...Questions are now being asked as to why police let matters get so far.**

“And yet I don’t see any of those reporters talking about the media’s coverage of Sherlock’s fall from grace,” Molly huffed, crossing her arms. “Nor is anyone talking about that reporter who smeared Sherlock’s name through the mud, Kitty Riley.”

“Let’s hope that she isn’t a reporter anymore, dear.” Mrs. Hudson put a hand on her shoulder.

**Greg and Anderson are now standing side by side, each holding a coffee cup and watching the reporters.**

**REPORTER 2: Sherlock Holmes fell to his death from the top of London’s Bart’s Hospital. Although he left no note, friends say it’s unlikely he was able to cope with...**

**Greg turns to Anderson.**

**LESTRADE: Well then. (He raises his cup.) Absent friends. Sherlock.**

**ANDERSON (sadly raising his own cup): Sherlock.**

**They tap their mugs together.**

**LESTRADE: And may God rest his soul.**

**They drink.**

Mrs. Hudson looked worried. “That was just coffee, right detective?”

Lestrade shrugged. “I hope so.”

*****

**At Sherlock’s grave, John gazes down at the headstone, his eyes haunted with memories and loss. Since we last saw him, he has grown a moustache.**

John raised a hand to his upper lip, considering the new facial hair. He turned to the others. “Should I let it grow out?”

“No!” was the collective response.

**As he continues to look at the grave, which has several bunches of flowers – some of them fading with age – at the base of the headstone, a woman steps to John’s side and takes his hand. He clasps it tightly.**

“Who’s that?” Sally asked.

Mycroft adjusted himself in his seat. “I’d assume that this is Mary, who our captor spoke about.” He considered the pair on screen. “John is getting ready to propose to her.”

Everyone immediately turned to look at him with wide eyes, then looked at John. “Really? But what about Sherlock?”

John rolled his eyes. He gestured to the screen. “Clearly, from my many on-screen girlfriends and a woman I am allegedly about to propose to, I’m not gay!”

Anderson rubbed his chin. Then, he pointed at John. “But you could be bi.”

John ran a hand down his face with a groan of aggravation.

*****

**SERBIA. NIGHT TIME. A man with long straggly hair is running through a forest. Above him, a helicopter is circling around, shining a searchlight into the trees while the crew watches their infrared camera, radioing instructions in Serbian to the ground crew. There is much shouting and running and chasing the man through the woods. Eventually, some of the soldiers block the way in front of the man. One of them sends a burst of automatic gunfire towards his feet and he has no choice but to stop. The soldiers surround the man and aim their rifles at him. He slumps to the ground, exhausted.**

“Who was that?” Anderson questioned. “And why are we watching someone running away at night?”

“I think that was Sherlock,” Lestrade guessed. “I mean, who else could it be? All of the signs point to him.”

**Sometime later, in what may be a bunker or an interrogation centre, a soldier wearing a thick coat and a furry hat is guarding the entrance to a room. He has earbuds in his ears playing loud music. Behind the closed door, the prisoner cries out as he is struck for what is apparently the umpteenth time.**

Everyone winced.

**Hearing the noise, the soldier takes out one of his earbuds and looks around to the door as the prisoner is struck again and groans. The soldier puts his earbud back in and turns away. Inside the room, the torturer shouts repeatedly at the prisoner, who is naked from the waist up and whose arms are chained to opposite walls of the small room, forcing him to stay upright. The man is slumped forward as far as he can, apparently exhausted by the repeated blows and unable to support his own weight. In a dark corner of the room another soldier, well wrapped against the cold and with a furry hat on his head, sits with his feet up on a small table and watches while the torturer paces across the room.**

“Oh, I sure hope it _isn’t_ Sherlock!” Molly fretted.

Mrs. Hudson started worrying at the hem of her skirt.

**TORTURER (in Serbian): You broke in here for a reason.**

**He picks up a large metal pipe and walks towards the prisoner again, whose face cannot be seen through the long straggly hair which is falling across it.**

Nearly everyone leaned forward, squinting to try and get a better view of the man’s face. Unfortunately, it was too unclear.

**TORTURER (in Serbian): Just tell us why and you can sleep. Remember sleep?**

**He draws back the pipe over his shoulder and prepares to strike the prisoner, but the man quietly whispers something. The torturer stops, lowering the pipe and leaning forward.**

**TORTURER (in Serbian): What?**

**He reaches down and pulls the man’s head back by the hair, leaning closer as the prisoner continues to whisper. The soldier in the corner speaks...in a voice which sounds more than a little familiar, although it is currently speaking with a heavy accent.**

**SOLDIER (in Serbian): Well? What did he say?**

“Who is that? He sounds familiar,” Sally muttered.

“Perhaps _he_ is Sherlock?” Anderson theorized.

Sally groaned. “Oh no! It’s already starting!”

**Straightening up and releasing the prisoner’s head, the torturer looks down at him in puzzlement.**

**TORTURER (in Serbian): He said that I used to work in the navy, where I had an unhappy love affair.**

“Oh no,” Lestrade said, grinning. “Sherlock is definitely the prisoner.” Then he frowned, remembering the prisoner’s wounds.

**SOLDIER (in Serbian): What?**

**The prisoner continues to whisper, and the torturer relays his words to the other man.**

**TORTURER (in Serbian): ...that the electricity isn’t working in my bathroom; and that my wife is sleeping with our next-door neighbour!**

**He reaches down and pulls up the prisoner’s head by the hair again.**

**TORTURER (in Serbian): And?**

**The prisoner replies briefly, and the man releases his head.**

**TORTURER (in Serbian): The coffin maker!**

“His neighbour is a coffin maker? How would he know that?” Anderson wondered.

“It’s kind of hard to miss that,” Sally said.

**Once again, he bends to the prisoner, lifting his head with a fist in his hair.**

**TORTURER (in Serbian): And? And?**

**The prisoner continues whispering, then the torturer drops his head and relays the words to the soldier.**

**TORTURER (in Serbian): If I go home now, I’ll catch them at it! I knew it! I knew there was something going on!**

**He storms out of the room, leaving the prisoner slumped in his chains.**

“Seriously?” Molly asked. “How could he fall for that?”

**SOLDIER (in Serbian): So, my friend. Now it’s just you and me.**

**He takes his feet off the table and stands up.**

**SOLDIER (in Serbian): You have no idea the trouble it took to find you.**

**He walks across the room to the prisoner, whose back is covered in blood and wounds from his beating. The soldier grabs a handful of the prisoner’s hair and pulls his head up a little. Leaning close to the man’s ear, he speaks in English and now we know that the familiar voice is none other than that of Mycroft Holmes.**

“Mycroft!” everyone exclaimed in unison, turning to the elder Holmes.

“You just sat there while Sherlock was being tortured? How could you?” Molly screamed at him.

Mycroft just shrugged. “I couldn’t give up my cover, now could I?”

The slap echoed throughout the room. Mycroft didn’t even react. He just glared coldly at Molly, who was breathing heavily.

**MYCROFT: Now listen to me. There’s an underground terrorist network active in London and a massive attack is imminent. Sorry, but the holiday is over, brother dear.**

“How was _that_ a holiday?” Mrs. Hudson asked. Her eyes raked over each and every one of Sherlock’s wounds, taking in his poor, exhausted body as her motherly instincts kicked in. All she wanted to do was wrap that boy in a warm hug, then tend to his wounds as she scolded him for being so foolish.

**He releases the prisoner’s head and straightens up.**

**MYCROFT: Back to Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes.**

**Under the long hair draped across his face, Sherlock smiles.**

“At least you’re bringing him back,” Lestrade said. “That’s the one good thing you’ve done in two years, it seems!”

*****

**LONDON. In an Underground station, the doors of a Tube train close and the train moves off. John sits inside.**

**Above ground, a black car with tinted rear windows heads through the streets.**

**The two journeys continue, while Mycroft sits behind a desk in a dark-walled windowless office (although there might be skylights letting in a little daylight) looking through paperwork. The car pulls up outside the Diogenes Club, which presumably contains this office.**

*****

**BAKER STREET. John walks across the road towards 221.**

“Back again, hmm?” Lestrade asked.

**Two young boys come around the corner, one of them pushing a pushchair in front of him. Sitting in the pushchair is a home-made Guy Fawkes ‘guy’ with an orange balloon for a head, with a face drawn on with marker pen. One of them calls out the traditional plea to a passer-by.**

**BOY: Penny for the guy?**

**The woman shakes her head as she walks past and the boys continue on, reaching John just before he gets to the front door.**

**BOY: Oi, mate! Penny for the guy?**

**John rolls his eyes.**

**SECOND BOY: Penny for the guy, mate?**

**FIRST BOY: Penny for the guy?**

**John looks at them quizzically and they continue onwards, calling out their plea to everyone they see. He unlocks the front door and goes inside. Partway down the hall, he stops, staring at Mrs. Hudson’s front door and letting out an anxious breath. In his head, he starts to hear Sherlock’s violin playing a fragment of Irene’s lament, and his head snaps up and he looks up the stairs as a snippet of an old conversation sounds inside his mind.**

**JOHN: That was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done.**

**SHERLOCK: And you invaded Afghanistan!**

John looked down, a little melancholy.

**John blinks, his face sad as the violin fades from his mind. Just then, Mrs. Hudson opens her door and comes out, staring at John in surprise. He raises a hand in greeting, clearing his throat before walking towards her after a final glance up the stairs.**

*****

**In Mycroft’s office, someone is reading the front-page headline of a newspaper that reads, “SKELETON MYSTERY”. The strapline, of which we can only see the beginning, says, “Remains found in the wall of a ...” The reader folds down the newspaper to reveal Mycroft sitting behind his desk a short distance away, reading a file.**

**MYCROFT: You have been busy, haven’t you?**

**We now see that it’s Sherlock who’s holding the newspaper. He is reclined flat on his back in a barber’s chair while a man is shaving his face with a cut-throat razor. Sherlock’s hair has been cut back to its normal length and is currently wet and straight. He tosses the paper onto a nearby trolley.**

**MYCROFT: Quite the busy little bee. (He chuckles.)**

**SHERLOCK: Moriarty’s network – took me two years to dismantle it.**

“No _that’s_ what he was doing!” Anderson exclaimed.

**MYCROFT: And you’re confident you have?**

**SHERLOCK: The Serbian side was the last piece of the puzzle.**

**MYCROFT: Yes. You got yourself in deep there... (he checks his report) ...with Baron Maupertuis. Quite a scheme.**

**SHERLOCK: Colossal.**

**MYCROFT (shutting the file): Anyway, you’re safe now.**

**SHERLOCK: Hmm.**

**MYCROFT: A small ‘thank you’ wouldn’t go amiss.**

“What for?” John asked. “You just sat there!”

**SHERLOCK: What for?**

**MYCROFT: For wading in.**

**Sherlock raises a hand to the barber to make him stop shaving him. The man steps back a little.**

**MYCROFT: In case you’d forgotten, fieldwork is not my natural milieu.**

“And now we can see why,” Sally muttered just quietly enough for Anderson to hear but no one else.

**Grunting in pain, Sherlock slowly sits up and looks at his brother angrily.**

**SHERLOCK: “Wading in”? You sat there and watched me being beaten to a pulp.**

“See? That’s what I said,” John said, growling at Mycroft. Lestrade and Molly were also glaring.

**MYCROFT (frowning indignantly): I got you out.**

**SHERLOCK: No – I got me out. Why didn’t you intervene sooner?**

**MYCROFT: Well, I couldn’t risk giving myself away, could I? It would have ruined everything.**

**SHERLOCK (glowering at him): You were enjoying it.**

Multiple glares were shot in Mycroft’s direction.

**MYCROFT: Nonsense.**

**SHERLOCK: Definitely enjoying it.**

**MYCROFT (leaning forward): Listen: do you have any idea what it was like, Sherlock, going ‘undercover,’ smuggling my way into their ranks like that? (He grimaces.) The noise; the people.**

“Oh, I bet that was _so_ uncomfortable for you,” John sneered. “But at least you weren’t being beaten to a bloody pulp!”

**He sits back. Groaning softly, Sherlock painfully sinks back to lie down in the chair again. The barber resumes his work.**

**SHERLOCK: I didn’t know you spoke Serbian.**

**MYCROFT: I didn’t, but the language has a Slavic root, frequent Turkish and German loan words. (He shrugs.) Took me a couple of hours.**

“Only a couple of hours to learn a whole language?” Anderson was, of course, impressed.

**SHERLOCK: Hmm – you’re slipping.**

“Slipping?” Sally asked.

Mycroft shrugged. “Usually it doesn’t take too long for me.”

**MYCROFT (smiling tightly): Middle age, brother mine. Comes to us all.**

**The door opens and Anthea – or not-Anthea – holds up a dark suit and white shirt on a hanger to show to Sherlock.**

“Did we ever find out her real name?” Anderson wondered.

“No,” John replied simply.

*****

**221A BAKER STREET. John is sitting at Mrs. Hudson’s kitchen table. She firmly slams down a small tray containing a cup and saucer and a jug of milk, then goes across the room to pick up a plate of biscuits, which she equally loudly slams down onto the table.**

“I’m picking up some aggression here. You alright Mrs. H?” Lestrade asked.

Mrs. Hudson shrugged. “I wouldn’t know yet. Maybe John hasn’t been visiting.” She sent a slight glare in John’s direction. The man in question spluttered, going red in the face.

**John silently watches her while she picks up a sugar bowl and thumps that onto the table. She hesitates, then points at the sugar bowl.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Oh no – you don’t take it, do you?**

**JOHN: No.**

**MRS. HUDSON: You forget a little thing like that.**

**JOHN: Yes.**

**MRS. HUDSON (pointedly): You forget lots of little things, it seems.**

“Yes. He definitely hasn’t been visiting,” Mrs. Hudson decided.

**JOHN: Uh-huh.**

**Mrs. Hudson purposely runs her finger between her nose and her upper lip while looking at John.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Not sure about that.**

**John reaches up to touch his moustache.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Ages you.**

“It really does,” Lestrade agreed. “You should get rid of it.”

**JOHN: Just trying it out.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Well, it ages you.**

**John looks awkwardly at her.**

**JOHN: Look...**

**MRS. HUDSON: I’m not your mother. I’ve no right to expect it...**

**JOHN: No...**

**MRS. HUDSON: ...but just one phone call, John.**

“Of course.” Mrs. Hudson shook her head.

Lestrade turned to John in surprise. “Not even a phone call, John? In two years?”

John looked down. “I haven’t done it yet!” he protested.

“But you will,” Lestrade pointed out.

**Her anger dissipates and she looks upset.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Just one phone call would have done.**

**JOHN: I know.**

**He looks down.**

**MRS. HUDSON: After all we went through.**

**JOHN (looking her in the eye): Yes. I am sorry.**

**MRS. HUDSON (sitting down at the table): Look, I understand how difficult it was for you after...after...**

**She stops, shaking her head sadly.**

**JOHN: I just let it slide, Mrs. Hudson. I let it all slide. And it just got harder and harder to pick up the phone somehow.**

**Sighing, he looks away for a moment, then turns his eyes back to hers.**

**JOHN: D’you know what I mean?**

**After a moment, Mrs. Hudson sighs too and reaches out to put her hand on his arm. He immediately puts his hand over hers.**

In the room, Mrs. Hudson copied her on-screen counterpart.

*****

**MYCROFT’S OFFICE. Sherlock’s hair is now dry and curly, and he is on his feet and almost dressed. He tucks his shirt into his trousers while he looks at himself in a large mirror on the wall. Mycroft and not-Anthea stand nearby.**

**MYCROFT: I need you to give this matter your full attention, Sherlock. Is that quite clear?**

**SHERLOCK: What do you think of this shirt?**

**MYCROFT (exasperated): Sherlock!**

Along with him, everyone sighed but still laughed. That was Sherlock, all right, ignoring his brother again and his matters of “national security”.

**SHERLOCK: I will find your underground terror cell, Mycroft.**

**He briefly looks at his brother.**

**SHERLOCK: Just put me back in London. I need to get to know the place again, breathe it in – feel every quiver of its beating heart.**

**NOT-ANTHEA: One of our men died getting this information. All the chatter, all the traffic, concurs there’s going to be a terror strike on London – a big one.**

**SHERLOCK (putting on his jacket): And what about John Watson?**

Lestrade grinned. “Of course, he asks about John.”

**Anthea throws an exasperated glance towards Mycroft.**

**MYCROFT: John?**

**SHERLOCK: Mmm. Have you seen him?**

**MYCROFT: Oh, yes – we meet up every Friday for fish and chips!**

“Really?” Anderson asked, seeming surprised.

“No, you dolt! He’s being sarcastic!” Sally shrieked at him again. This time when she swung at him, he ducked, and she hit Lestrade instead.

Lestrade frowned at her, rubbing his arm. Luckily, she’d slipped and didn’t hit him as hard as she was intending to hit Anderson.

“Sorry, sir!” she squeaked.

**He gestures to Anthea, who hands Sherlock a folder.**

**MYCROFT: I’ve kept a weather eye on him, of course.**

**Sherlock opens the file. There are two black and white surveillance photos of John and a printed report underneath.**

**MYCROFT: You haven’t been in touch at all, to prepare him?**

**SHERLOCK (distractedly): No.**

**He looks at the picture of John with his new moustache.**

**SHERLOCK: Well, we’ll have to get rid of that.**

“We?” John asked. “What does he mean, ‘we’?”

Lestrade chuckled. “He doesn’t want any scratchy kisses from you, John!”

“Oh, my God, Greg! Stop it! I’m getting married, apparently, and you’re still doing it! Sherlock and I were never together! We never _got_ together, and we will never _get_ together!”

“You’re not getting married, John. You’re just proposing. She could still say no.”

“Especially if Sherlock pops in to see you,” Anderson piped up.

**MYCROFT: “We”?**

**SHERLOCK: He looks ancient. I can’t be seen to be wandering around with an old man.**

“See?” John gestured pointedly at the screen. “Totally platonic!”

“You’re missing the fact that he expects that you’ll immediately go back to him when he came back after two years of being ‘dead’,” Sally pointed out. “That’s not platonic at all, mate.”

**He closes the file and drops it onto the desk.**

*****

**221B. John has gone upstairs and opens the door to the living room. He stands in the doorway, looking into the room. It’s quite dark because the curtains are closed, but lots of dust is floating around, illuminated by the few shafts of light coming into the room. John continues to stand still, looking towards Sherlock’s chair by the fireside.**

“Have you not changed anything in two whole years, Mrs. Hudson?” Molly turned to the older woman.

“I wouldn’t be able to bring myself to,” she replied tearfully. “And John never came to help me move anything, so…”

**Mrs. Hudson comes in and switches on the lights.**

**MRS. HUDSON: I couldn’t face letting it out.**

**She walks across to the right-hand window and pulls the curtains back, coughing at the dust.**

**MRS. HUDSON: He never liked me dusting.**

“That’s because he probably didn’t want you touching any of his nasty experiments,” Sally pointed out.

“And the dust was how he found that camera that the assassins set up,” Anderson added.

**JOHN (turning to look into the kitchen): No, I know.**

**Mrs. Hudson goes across the room to open the other curtains.**

**MRS. HUDSON: So, why now? What changed your mind?**

**Drawing in a deep breath, John turns back to face her.**

**JOHN: Well, I’ve got some news.**

**Mrs. Hudson turns to him and her face fills with horror.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Oh, God. Is it serious?**

“Why do you immediately think that he’s dying?” Molly asked, looking at Mrs. Hudson.

She shrugged.

**JOHN: What? No – no, I’m not ill. I’ve, er, well, I’m...moving on.**

**MRS. HUDSON (sadly): You’re emigrating.**

Laughter filled the room, including Mrs. Hudson herself. How hard was it to believe that John had gotten into a serious relationship after Sherlock?

**JOHN: Nope. Er, no – I’ve, er ... I’ve met someone.**

**MRS. HUDSON giggles with delight. Clapping her hands, she walks towards him smiling happily.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Oh, lovely!**

**JOHN (smiling): Yeah. We’re getting married...well, I’m gonna ask, anyway.**

**MRS. HUDSON (looking more doubtful): So soon after Sherlock?**

**JOHN: Well, yes.**

**Mrs. Hudson looks away thoughtfully for a moment, then smiles at John.**

**MRS. HUDSON: What’s his name?**

Everyone laughed again, more wildly than before. Well, aside from John, that is. Instead, he dropped his head into an unused pillow. As soon as John had the pillow in front of his face, he let out a long scream.

When he was done, he looked up, face a little red from the screaming. “How many times do I have to tell you? I’m _not_ gay!”

“Are you sure about that?” Anderson asked, staring at him with wide eyes. “Are you really, _really_ sure?”

**JOHN (letting out a huge exasperated sigh): It’s a woman.**

**MRS. HUDSON: A woman?!**

**JOHN: Yes, of course it’s a woman.**

**Mrs. Hudson laughs in surprise.**

**MRS. HUDSON: You really have moved on, haven’t you?**

“I’ve only _ever_ dated women, Mrs. Hudson! Surely, you would have noticed that!”

**JOHN: MRS. HUDSON! How many times ...? Sherlock was not my boyfriend.**

**MRS. HUDSON (smiling affectionately): Live and let live – that’s my motto.**

**JOHN (slowly getting louder): Listen to me: I am not gay!**

“I can’t believe I still have to say that even though it’s been two years,” John said with a sigh.

“Think of it this way, John,” Lestrade said, “If you still have to say it, it means there is some truth to what we’re saying. You’re in denial, mate.”

“No, I’m not!”

“Guilty as charged,” Anderson whispered.

*****

**MYCROFT’S OFFICE.**

**SHERLOCK (straightening his jacket): I think I’ll surprise John. He’ll be delighted!**

“Maybe not as delighted as you think, Sherlock,” Lestrade said, eyeing John cautiously.

**MYCROFT (smiling cynically): You think so?**

**SHERLOCK: Hmm. I’ll pop into Baker Street. Who knows – jump out of a cake.**

“What the hell?” Sally asked.

“So far, everyone has changed except for Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade,” Anderson said. “And maybe Mycroft.”

“Mycroft doesn’t count,” Molly said, glaring at the man in question. “He’s always been a jerk.”

**MYCROFT (frowning): Baker Street? He isn’t there anymore.**

**Sherlock looks surprised.**

**MYCROFT: Why would he be? It’s been two years. He’s got on with his life.**

**SHERLOCK: What life? I’ve been away.**

More laughter erupted as John once again groaned. By the end of this part, he would probably be hoarse.

“He has a point,” Lestrade said. “Remember what happened before he showed up? You had nothing to write in your blog and you were living a sad, lonely life in that veterans’ residence.”

**Mycroft pretty much rolls his eyes without actually rolling them.**

**SHERLOCK: Where’s he going to be tonight?**

**MYCROFT: How would I know?**

**SHERLOCK: You always know.**

**MYCROFT: He has a dinner reservation in the Marylebone Road. Nice little spot. They have a few bottles of the 2000 Saint-Emilion...though I prefer the 2001.**

**SHERLOCK: I think maybe I’ll just drop by.**

“Oh no!” John cried.

Anderson winced. “Not the best way to introduce your ex to your future wife.”

**MYCROFT: You know, it is just possible that you won’t be welcome.**

**SHERLOCK: No it isn’t. Now, where is it?**

**MYCROFT: Where’s what?**

**SHERLOCK: You know what.**

**Anthea also knows what because she immediately appears in the open doorway holding Sherlock’s Belstaff coat. Sherlock smiles with delight and slides his arms into the sleeves as Anthea lifts it into position. She has even already popped the collar for him.**

“She’s a pretty good assistant,” Lestrade said, amused. “Especially to put up with your antics for two-plus years.”

**ANTHEA: Welcome back, Mr. Holmes.**

**SHERLOCK (pulling the collar tips into a better position): Thank you...**

**He turns to face his brother.**

**SHERLOCK (sarcastically): ...blud.**

Anderson laughed cheerfully. “Well, I guess John’s going to be in for a pleasant surprise!”

*****

**Later, Sherlock stands on a rooftop or a balcony of a tall building and gazes over his favourite city. The building is 55 Whitehall, the Department of Energy and Climate Change.**

They winced again upon seeing him up on another high place. Luckily, this time there was no threat to his friends nor was there Moriarty to force him to do it.

*****

**EVENING. THE LANDMARK HOTEL, MARYLEBONE ROAD. Sherlock approaches the door to the restaurant, handing his Belstaff to a member of staff. Waiters open the doors for him, and he walks in. The maître d’ steps forward.**

**MAITRE D’: Sir, may I help you?**

**Having only glanced briefly at him, Sherlock has gone into full-blown deduction mode, seeming to hear a woman crying out in pain:**

Anderson watched excitedly; he’d missed seeing Sherlock’s deductions.

*****

**Expectant Father**

*****

**The man’s phone beeps a text alert.**

**SHERLOCK: Your wife just texted you. Possibly her contractions have started.**

**The man fishes his phone out of his pocket, looks at the screen and hurries away. Sherlock smiles smugly to himself.**

“That’s useful,” Sally acknowledged.

**Nearby, John is sitting alone at a table, checking the inside pocket of his jacket before taking a drink from a glass of water. Sherlock looks across the room at him, then hesitates. A waitress picks up some menus from the bar and walks across in front of him.**

**WAITRESS: ’Scuse me, sir.**

**Sherlock’s attention is drawn to the bowtie she is wearing as part of her uniform. He looks to a nearby table where a couple are sitting. There is a glass of red wine and a glass of water to the man’s left. The man has his back to the door, but Sherlock can see him reflected in the water glass. As John picks up the wine list and starts looking at it, Sherlock smiles to himself again and walks over to the side of the other couple’s table where he picks up the glass of water and pours it down the man’s front. The man – wearing a white shirt, black jacket and a bowtie – recoils and cries out in shock.**

**SHERLOCK: Sorry! I’m so, so sorry!**

“That was quite rude!” Mrs. Hudson scolded the on-screen Sherlock.

**The man lifts his napkin from his lap and starts mopping himself with it. Sherlock steps behind him, pulling the napkin higher up the man’s chest.**

**SHERLOCK: Please, let me just go to the kitchen and, er, dry that off for you.**

**With one smooth tug, he pulls off the man’s bowtie and walks away, tying the bowtie around his own neck. Continuing across the restaurant, he sees a man at another table taking off his glasses and putting them down on top of the menu he has just been reading. Sherlock walks to his side.**

**SHERLOCK: Finished with that, sir? Allow me to take it for you.**

**Not paying much attention, the man waves him away. Sherlock picks up the menu and the glasses and walks away, putting on the glasses as he goes. At a nearby table, a woman’s small handbag is open beside her. Sherlock sees that there is an eyeliner pencil on the top. He steps close behind her, offering her the menu he’s holding with his right hand while simultaneously taking the menu she is holding with his left hand.**

**SHERLOCK: Madam, can I suggest you look at this menu? It’s, er, completely identical.**

**She automatically takes the menu from his right hand and he instantly pinches the eyeliner from her bag and steps away, turning his back to the bulk of the restaurant and lifting the eyeliner towards his face. When he turns back, he has drawn a small pencil moustache on his top lip. He goes over to John’s table, standing to his left and one step behind him. He addresses John in a French accent.**

“I’ve got to hand it to him; he’d make a good pickpocket if he wasn’t a detective,” Sally said. “Pro’lly learned it from his homeless network.”

**SHERLOCK: Can I ’elp you with anything, sir?**

**JOHN (not looking round at him): Hi, yeah. I’m looking for a bottle of champagne – a good one.**

**SHERLOCK (leaning closer): Mmm! Well, these are all excellent vintages.**

**JOHN: Er, it’s not really my area. What do you suggest?**

A few people chuckled. John was talking directly to Sherlock, but he didn’t even notice.

**SHERLOCK (his French accent becoming a little Captain du Creff-esque): Well, you cannot possibly go wrong, but, erm, if you’d like my personal recommendation...**

**JOHN: Mm-hm.**

**SHERLOCK (French accent) (gesturing at the list with his eyeliner pencil): ...this last one on the list is a favourite of mine.**

**John nods, still not looking up at him.**

**SHERLOCK (French accent) (straightening up): It is – you might, in fact, say – like a face from ze past.**

**He takes off his glasses and waits expectantly. John still doesn’t look around.**

Lestrade couldn’t stop grinning. “I guess this is not going according to Sherlock’s plan.”

“Fine! Next time a friend of mine comes back from the dead, I’ll be sure to be more cooperative with their big reveal!” John shot back, exasperated.

**JOHN: Great. I’ll have that one, please.**

**He finishes his glass of red wine. Sherlock looks startled that John hasn’t recognized him yet.**

**SHERLOCK (French accent): It is familiar, but, er, with the quality of surprise!**

**He almost lapses into his own voice on the final word and he gestures grandly. John grimaces at the taste of his wine, then – still without looking round – hands the wine list to the man he thinks is the wine waiter.**

**JOHN: Well, er, surprise me.**

Mrs. Hudson sighed. “You must be distracted, John dear.”

**SHERLOCK (tetchily, in pretty much his own voice): Certainly endeavouring to, sir.**

**He walks away. John reaches into his inside jacket pocket and pulls out a small red velvet box. Opening it, he looks at the three-stone diamond ring inside, then closes the box and puts it on the table in front of him.**

“No wonder he’s so distracted,” Lestrade said. “He’s proposing soon.”

**Nearby, a woman walks down the stairs. John fidgets with the box, turning it this way and that, perhaps in an attempt to make it look perfectly placed. He blows out a nervous breath as his dinner date, Mary Morstan, rejoins him, patting his shoulder before walking around to her own seat.**

**MARY: Sorry that took so long.**

**John snatches the box off the table and shoves it back into his pocket. She sits down and smiles at him.**

**MARY: You okay?**

**JOHN: Yeah, yeah. Me? Fine. I am fine.**

**She smiles sweetly. John chuckles and gazes at her with a delighted look on his face.**

**MARY: Now then, what did you want to ask me?**

**John’s smile fades and he looks nervous.**

**JOHN: More wine?**

**MARY: No, I’m good with water, thanks.**

**JOHN: Right. (He briefly looks away.)**

**MARY: So...**

**JOHN: Er, so...Mary. Listen, erm... I know it hasn’t been long... I mean, I know we haven’t known each other for a long time...**

**He looks down, clearly struggling.**

**MARY (encouragingly): Go on.**

**JOHN: Yes, I will. As you know, these last couple of years haven’t been easy for me; and meeting you...**

“God, how long have you two even been together?” Sally asked.

**He looks at her for a moment, then nods.**

**JOHN: Yeah, meeting you has been the best thing that could have possibly happened.**

**MARY: I agree.**

**JOHN: What?**

**MARY (smiling): I agree I’m the best thing that could have happened to you.**

Molly frowned. “Well, that’s a little snooty, isn’t it?”

“She can’t be too bad if John picked her out, dear. Let’s give her a chance,” Mrs. Hudson said.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about John’s taste in personalities. He picked Sherlock after all, back when he didn’t care about anyone or their feelings,” Sally muttered.

“And he fixed that!” Mrs. Hudson protested.

Sally rolled her eyes. “But he’s been with Mary for a few months at the very least, considering he’s going to propose to her. And she’s still like this!”

“She’s probably just making a joke, so will you three stop and let us continue?” Lestrade interrupted.

**John laughs. Mary screws up her nose apologetically.**

**MARY: Sorry.**

**JOHN: Well, no. That’s, um...**

**He pauses, then looks at her.**

**JOHN: So...if you’ll have me, Mary, could you see your way, um...**

**She giggles. He clears his throat.**

“She knows exactly what he’s going to say, and I think she’s enjoying him falling all over himself,” Sally pointed out. “Honestly, I’m kind of enjoying it myself.”

John blushed deep red all the way to his ears. He really didn’t expect this to turn into a reel of all his best fails.

**JOHN: ...if you could see your way to...**

**Just as he’s about to go for it, Sherlock glides over to the table, still with the glasses, the ridiculous fake moustache and the ridiculous fake accent, but now with the added bonus of a bottle of champagne which he shows to John.**

“Perfect timing, Sherlock!” Lestrade applauded.

“This is all too hilarious!” Anderson added, laughing.

John just sunk into his seat, unsure if he could handle any more embarrassment. He was already failing his proposal, and now Sherlock had shown up to ruin everything.

**SHERLOCK (French accent): Sir, I think you’ll find this vintage exceptionally to your liking.**

**Mary shields her face with her hand so that the ‘waiter’ can’t see her as she giggles silently at John.**

**SHERLOCK (French accent): It ’as all the qualities of the old, with some of the colour of the new.**

“How long is he going to keep this up, do you think?” Anderson asked.

“Until it works,” Sally replied with a shrug.

**JOHN (his eyes locked on Mary’s): No, sorry, not now, please.**

**SHERLOCK (French accent): Like a gaze from a crowd of strangers...**

**Mary pulls a face at John.**

**SHERLOCK (French accent): ...suddenly one is aware of staring into ze face of an old friend.**

**He takes off his glasses.**

**JOHN: No, look, seriously... (he finally lifts his gaze to meet the waiter’s eyes) ...could you just...**

“Finally!” Sally exclaimed. “Took you long enough!”

**His face drops. His entire body jolts and he stares with an expression of utter disbelief.**

**SHERLOCK (in his normal accent): Interesting thing, a tuxedo. Lends distinction to friends, and anonymity to waiters.**

**John turns his head towards Mary, then his eyes fill with tears and he ducks his head momentarily before he stumbles clumsily to his feet.**

Similarly, John looks down, a little aggravated. He’d been about to propose to a woman and Sherlock jumped in and ruined it, just like he thought. Just because he had to come back from the dead and rush back into his life when it suited him!

Mrs. Hudson put a hand on his shoulder comfortingly and gave a gentle squeeze.

**MARY (concerned): John?**

**As John straightens up, Sherlock begins to move his right hand forward as if expecting John to shake it. John looks down at the table breathing heavily before lifting his head and briefly locking eyes with him.**

**MARY (worried): John, what is it? What?**

**John looks down again, clearly still in shock.**

**SHERLOCK (a little awkwardly): Well, short version...**

**John raises his eyes to him again.**

**SHERLOCK: ...Not Dead.**

**John stares at him, his face full of pain, shock and growing anger. Sherlock finally seems to catch on and looks a little guilty.**

“At least he’s gotten better at reading people’s emotions,” John said, though his anger was rising right along with himself on the screen.

**SHERLOCK: Bit mean, springing it on you like that, I know. Could have given you a heart attack, probably still will. But in my defence, it was very funny.**

“He did that for the joke? How insensitive can you get?” Sally asked.

John glared. “I didn’t hear you saying that before when you were laughing!”

Sally immediately shut her mouth.

**He laughs nervously, not meeting John’s eyes, which is probably for the best because John’s gaze is slowly turning murderous.**

**SHERLOCK: Okay, it’s not a great defence.**

**MARY: Oh no! You’re...**

“Finally! Someone else recognizes him! It’s not like he’s all over the news!” Sally exclaimed.

“Everyone thinks he’s dead. I think only his closest friends would realize that it’s actually him and not just a lookalike if they were to pass him in the street,” Lestrade reasoned.

**SHERLOCK (glancing towards her): Oh yes.**

**MARY (shocked): Oh, my God.**

**SHERLOCK: Not quite.**

Everyone laughed. At least that response gave a little reprieve from the growing tension in the room.

**MARY: You died. You jumped off a roof.**

**SHERLOCK: No.**

**MARY (appalled): You’re dead!**

“How is no one in the restaurant noticing them making a scene?” Sally asked.

**SHERLOCK: No. I’m quite sure. I checked. Excuse me.**

**Picking up a napkin from the table, he dips it into Mary’s glass of water and then starts to rub off his moustache.**

**SHERLOCK (trying to sound nonchalant as he meets John’s furious gaze): Does, er, does yours rub off, too?**

“Did Sherlock just make a joke?” Anderson was confused again. “All of this is a bunch of jokes! Why is he making jokes?”

Sally was equally confused. “What happened to him over those two years?”

“He found a sense of humour in a foreign country?” Anderson suggested.

**The tight smile which John directs at him bears absolutely no humour at all. Mary’s anger is clear in her voice as she speaks.**

**MARY: Oh my God, oh my God. Do you have any idea what you’ve done to him?**

“I thought my best friend committed suicide right in front of me and then mourned him for two years and he just shows up back in my life because he wants to?” John nearly exploded from his anger. This time, his face wasn’t red from embarrassment.

**SHERLOCK (looking down nervously): Okay, John, I’m suddenly realizing I probably owe you some sort of an apology.**

“He’s only suddenly realizing this?” John was furious.

**Clenching his left fist, John slams it down onto the table. It’s a credit to the manufacturers of the table that he doesn’t shatter it. He hunches over his fist.**

**MARY: All right, just... John? Just keep...**

**John pulls in a deep shaky breath before looking up at Sherlock.**

**JOHN (in a whisper): Two years.**

“Here we go. John is about to make a scene in a restaurant because his ex showed up,” Sally muttered.

**He shakes his head, dragging in another long breath and blowing it out again before starting to straighten up.**

**JOHN (still in a tight whisper): Two years.**

**He moans and slumps down over his hands again. Sherlock has the decency to look awkward. John glances up at him momentarily.**

**JOHN: I thought...**

**He groans, unable to continue and gesturing helplessly. Mary stares at him in sympathy. John finally straightens and turns to Sherlock.**

**JOHN: I thought...you were dead. (His face begins to fill with anger again.) Hmm?**

**He breathes rapidly and shallowly.**

**JOHN: Now, you let me grieve, hmm? How could you do that?**

“He had to dismantle Moriarty’s whole network, and he couldn’t just let you slip up and give them warning that you were still alive, now could he?” Mycroft interrupted.

“No! you can’t say anything! You’ve done enough already,” John yelled at him.

**Sherlock looks down, biting his lip.**

**JOHN (softly but furiously): How?**

“That’s what we all want to know!” Anderson leaned forward, eager to hear how he really did it.

**SHERLOCK (as John’s breathing becomes more intense): Wait – before you do anything that you might regret...**

**John half-groans again.**

**SHERLOCK: ...um, one question. Just let me ask one question. Um...**

**John looks at him, his eyes are still full of fury.**

**SHERLOCK (almost giggling as he gestures towards his own top lip): Are you really gonna keep that?!**

**He grins as he turns his head to look at Mary. She laughs in disbelief. John draws in one more long breath, then hurls himself at Sherlock, grabbing his lapels and bundling him back across the floor until Sherlock loses his footing and they both fall to the floor, John on top of Sherlock and trying to throttle him. Mary and various waiters run to pull John off.**

“Well, that’s a bit overdramatic, isn’t it, John?” Lestrade asked as the screen went dark. “Also, is it just me, or did that seem longer than usual?”

“You’re not imagining anything. That was indeed twice as long as any other segment of footage we’ve watched before,” Mycroft said.

“Why do you think that is?”

“Perhaps it is because we’re watching the future. Or our captor had a change of heart. We cannot be sure.”

Either way, they knew the routine by now. They were going to take just a short break and then it would start again.

Anderson stood up. “Firstly, what I want to know, is what happened to Sherlock during those two years undercover? Did he suddenly find a sense of humour? Why was he making so many jokes all of a sudden?”

“I think he always made jokes like that, at least with John. And he also liked doing things to annoy his brother. We’re just finding it strange because he’d done it all at once, finally able to come out of his spy persona and joke around with people he feels comfortable with,” Lestrade suggested.

“Reasonable assessment,” Mycroft acknowledged.

“Or maybe he’s just had to act like a normal person for so long that he’s become sort of normal?” Anderson voiced.

“Eh… Pro’lly not,” Sally said, shrugging.

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin Petersen**


	52. Mini-Episode: Many Happy Returns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As in the original story posted on Wattpad, I forgot to include this, and also explained it within the chapter itself, so I had to keep the order, even though this should have been watched before we started "The Empty Hearse."

When the video didn’t begin playing right away again, they were confused. That was how this worked, right? As soon as they were done talking or whatever, the next one would play, right? Why wasn’t it happening now?

“What’s going on?” Sally asked. “Is it broken or somethin’?”

“I’m not sure…” John said. He stood and slapped the TV. Then he yelled at it. Nothing happened. Strange. It always seemed to work with the machines at the TESCO. (Or maybe it hadn’t helped; just made him feel better.)

“John, sit down!” Mycroft ordered. “Just sit down and read the message.”

Unbeknownst to them, a new message had popped up on the screen. _“Hello. Terribly sorry, but I have just realized that we’re watching something a bit out of order. If you will excuse the interruption, we’ll go back in time just a little. It’s a bit unorthodox, I know, but it’s better than waiting any longer.”_

Anderson scratched his head. “What’s that supposed to mean? What could we have missed?”

“Um…I don’t know, two whole years, perhaps?” Sally shot at him, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Right…but what could have happened in those two years that’s important enough for us to watch and not important enough for our captor to remember right away?”

Lestrade crossed his arms as he thought about it. “Perhaps they have the collections of footage, one for each case like the episodes of a television show, but since Sherlock has been away for two years, it’s not a case and therefore wasn’t in the list?”

Anderson paused, then shrugged. “Sounds reasonable enough. Sally?”

She grumbled. “Yeah. Reasonable enough.”

“I’m sure we’ll find out anyway,” John said, “It’s starting.”

**The Himalayas, a Buddhist temple. The last of many candles is lit for a ceremony. A hooded monk watches the candles burn closely. A line of monks with deep cowls kneel silently as a hunched hooded monk enters. He approaches the first monk in line.**

**MONK (muttering and blessing the monk): Tashi Dalek.**

Molly leaned forward. “Those hands look familiar…” she mumbled, inspecting the closely. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. “Is it Sherlock?”

Sally gave her a strange look. “How could you be able to recognize him just by his hands?” she asked, aghast.

Molly blushed and spluttered.

**He repeats the blessing for each monk, though he pauses at the last monk in line. He carefully flips back the hood of the monk, revealing a blonde woman. She stares up at the monk furiously.**

**WOMAN: You bastard!**

**The rest of the monks slide back their cowls and look over at the woman with surprise.**

*****

**A pub. Lestrade and Anderson sit together at a tall bar table.**

“Oh. It’s another one of Anderson’s stupid theories. Why are these so important? I mean, why could we just skip them?” Sally asked.

“Hey! They are obviously _very_ important!” Anderson shouted in protest.

**LESTRADE (smirking): A breakaway sect of Buddhist warrior monks infiltrated by a blonde drug smuggler. That never really happened.**

**ANDERSON: A, a blonde drug smuggler who was exposed by an abbot with unusual powers of observation and deduction.**

**LESTRADE: A blonde woman hiding among bald monks, that wouldn't exactly take Sherlock Holmes.**

“But they were all wearing hoods,” Molly pointed out.

“Exactly!” Anderson gestured to Molly happily.

Sally rolled her eyes, laughing.

**ANDERSON: Well, perhaps it did.**

**LESTRADE (insisting): He's dead. (Anderson eyes him, slightly shocked by Lestrade's statement) I'm sorry, I wish it wasn't, but he really is dead and gone.**

**ANDERSON (looking down at his map): Well, how do you explain this? (he taps the city of New Delhi on the map) Sighting number two. (he looks dramatically up at Lestrade) Incident at New Delhi.**

**LESTRADE (exasperatedly): You haven't been titling these?**

“Oh, my God. Anderson, you’re turning into a crazier, more desperate John. Maybe _you_ should start a blog, too,” Sally joked.

“Maybe I will,” Anderson commented thoughtfully.

*****

**New Delhi, a press conference room. Inspector Prakesh is holding a press conference, packed with paparazzi all taking his photograph. A large emblem of the Delhi Police adorns the back wall. Prakesh is flanked by two other police officers.**

**PRAKESH (confidently and boastfully): After that, it was simply a matter of tracking down the killer which I did by working out the depth (he uses his hands to mime) to which the chocolate flake had sunk into the victim's ice-cream cone. (he laughs knowingly)**

Lestrade raised an eyebrow. “Who would do that aside from Sherlock?” He shook his head. “God, I… I can’t believe this, but Anderson is really onto something here.”

“Nice to know you have such faith in me,” Anderson said flatly. “If you don’t think I’m capable, why did you have me on for so long?”

Lestrade stuttered for a moment (just a moment) before saying, “I’m just saying that you seem a little less stable in that state.” He gestured at the screen. “You were clearly already in your obsession for Sherlock, so I probably assumed you were overcome by grief and just fishing for possibilities.”

Anderson’s shoulders sagged. “You’re right.”

**He smiles and there is chatter from the media. Later he has left the press conference room. Looking up, he is unnerved by the sight that greets his eyes.**

**PRAKESH (nervously, looking around in caution): My friend. Will you not take any of the credit? This was all down to you.**

**The man he is talking to stays silent. The mysterious man is wearing a long coat.**

*****

**Back at the pub.**

**LESTRADE: Clever man, Inspector Prakesh.**

**ANDERSON: Oh, ph. What police inspector could have made those deductions?**

**LESTRADE (insulted): Well, thank you.**

**ANDERSON: You remember how Sherlock never took the credit when he solved all of your cases?**

**LESTRADE: He didn't solve all of my cases.**

**ANDERSON (menacingly): He's out there. He's hiding. But he can't stop himself from getting involved. (he chuckles) It's so obviously him. If you know how to spot the signs.**

**LESTRADE (still insulted by Anderson's comment): The Klein brothers. The Tower House thing. The Kensington Ripper. I solved all those myself.**

**ANDERSON (muttering under his breath): Well you got Tower House wrong.**

**LESTRADE: No, I didn't!**

“I didn’t!” Lestrade agreed with his on-screen counterpart.

**ANDERSON (moving the conversation on): Yeah, you did. (he turns over the map, so it displayed Europe) OK, sighting number three. (he points to the city of Hamburg) The Mysterious Juror.**

John shrugged. “That’s not the _worst_ title, I guess.”

**Lestrade slams his head into the table in frustration.**

*****

**Hamburg, a jury room. The jury foreman, who looks tired and frustrated, sits at the head of the table of jurors. He speaks in German.**

**JURY FOREMAN:** **Nun wie wir alle wissen wurde diese Jury unter höchst ungewöhnlichen Umständen zusammengerufen. Aber ich muss Sie jetzt auf ein Urteil drängen. (he looks around at the jurors) Ist Herr Trephoff schuldig oder nicht schuldig am Mord seiner Frau?** **[As we know this jury was convened under highly unusual circumstances, but now I must press you for a judgment. Is Herr Trepoff guilty or not guilty of the murder of his wife?]**

**The jurors answer each turn, going down the table from the foreman.**

**JUROR 1: Nicht schuldig. [Not guilty.]**

**JUROR 2: Nicht schuldig. [Not guilty.]**

**JUROR 3: Nicht schuldig. [Not guilty.]**

**JUROR 4: Nicht schuldig. [Not guilty.]**

**JUROR 5: Nicht schuldig. [Not guilty.]**

**JUROR 6: Nicht schuldig. [Not guilty.]**

**JUROR 7: Nicht schuldig. [Not guilty.]**

**JUROR 8: Nicht schuldig. [Not guilty.]**

**JUROR 9: Nicht schuldig. [Not guilty.]**

**JUROR 10: Nicht schuldig. [Not guilty.]**

**FOREMAN (exasperatedly): Nun? [Well?]**

**Later a suit-wearing man approaches a stand of newspapers. The headline of the CAM Global News reads "Trepoff 'Guilty' Sensation!" and features a picture of a bald man, presumably Trepoff. The paper beside it has the headline: "Sensation! Trepoff Schuldig!" The man grabs a Global Newspaper and soon after another person collects a copy of the other newspaper.**

*****

**The pub.**

**ANDERSON: It had to be him. There's no one else it can be, do you not see?**

“People probably _would_ see if you weren’t so high-strung about it all,” Mrs. Hudson advised. “You’ll scare all the nice people off with that attitude of yours.”

“But I’m finally seeing how Sherlock sees the world!” Anderson insisted. “No one believes me when I’m so obviously _right_!”

“But none of your theories had been proven right at that point, and most of the assumptions you made could have been false,” Lestrade reminded him.

**LESTRADE (solemnly): I see you lost a good job fantasizing about a dead man coming back to life and I know why you want that to happen. (he nods his head and grimaces) But it's never gonna.**

“I…I lost my job over this?” Anderson was thrown.

“Of course, you did. New Scotland Yard can’t have one of its forensics scientists going off about dead men still being alive,” Sally said, rolling her eyes.

**The pair pauses, Anderson shaking his head in suppressed anger. Lestrade takes a large swill, finishing off his drink.**

**LESTRADE: Okay. (he places the empty glass back on the table) I'm gonna go and see an old friend. (he gathers his coat and prepares to leave. He turns back to ANDERSON, who is silent in despair) You take care, okay? (Anderson doesn't look up at him) I'll put a word in, see if they won't review your case.**

**ANDERSON (mesmerized in thought) Just look at the map though. (a red, dotted line draws its way from Hamburg to Amsterdam and then to Brussels, with red crosses appearing on those cities) It's like he's coming back.**

“I was right about that, though!” Anderson reasoned.

“If Sherlock was following a line back to England, why was he in Serbia right before coming back? That’s definitely farther away than Brussels,” Molly argued.

“We don’t even know, when-abouts this is,” Sally added.

**He looks up at Lestrade expectantly, who only nods sadly before leaving the pub.**

*****

**John Watson's home. John Watson walks into the living room, placing a grey shoebox down on a table. Lestrade follows after him closely. John pauses and allows Lestrade in front of him.**

“Ah, so it was _John_ you were visiting,” Sally said.

“Guess so,” Lestrade replied.

Molly inspected the screen. “Either way, he doesn’t have a moustache, so that tells us it’s still a little while before the series of footage we were watching before. I’d say about a month at least.”

The footage was once again paused as words appeared on the screen. _“Indeed, Molly. The Empty Hearse case begins early November, while this is only in October.”_

“So John has probably already met Mary,” Lestrade reasoned.

“How are we supposed to know that he met Mary already?” Anderson asked, skeptical.

“It’s either been a month, a year and a month, or two years since Sherlock died,” Lestrade replied. “And he’s looking a lot better, but you are looking a bit scruffy.”

“Oh.”

**JOHN: Well, it's good to see you, Greg.**

**LESTRADE (shaking hands with John): And you.**

**JOHN: Have a seat.**

**LESTRADE (sitting down on one of the sofas): So how have you been?**

**JOHN (sitting on a different sofa): Yeah, good, yeah. Much better. (Lestrade nods) Er, so what's in the, err... (he points to the shoebox on the table)**

“I guess Lestrade was right. John said he was ‘much better’, so he must’ve already met Mary and gotten his life together,” Sally acknowledged.

**LESTRADE: Oh that, yeah, that's, um, that's some stuff from my office. Some stuff of Sherlock's actually. I probably should have thrown it out, but I didn't know if...**

**JOHN: No, it's fine, yeah.**

**LESTRADE (getting up and walking over to the box): Yeah, there's something here. Um, I wasn't sure whether I should have kept it in.**

**He lifts up the lid of the shoe box. The contents of the box include a small, black model train, a plain yellow mask, a box of nicotine patches, a phone with a pink case and a DVD. Lestrade picks up the DVD.**

**LESTRADE: You remember the video message he made for your birthday. (John nods, reminiscing) Oh, I had to practically threaten him. (he proffers the DVD) This is the uncut version. It's quite funny.**

“So, is _this_ what’s so important?” Anderson wondered.

Lestrade paused, thinking back to the video. What in it could possibly be so important for them to watch? Was it just because it was funny? Or maybe…something more…?

**JOHN (taking the disc): Oh right, thanks. (John looks at the disc silently)**

**LESTRADE: Maybe I shouldn't have brought it.**

**JOHN (still looking at the DVD): Don't worry, it's okay. (he looks up at Lestrade) I probably won't even watch it.**

*****

**John's home, later. John Watson is alone in his living room. He sits and pours himself a glass of whisky. He screws the bottle's lid back on and places the bottle back into a cupboard. He sits down into his armchair with a grunt, his glass of whisky in his hand. He pauses and sips the drink. After another pause, he leans forward, puts the glass down on the coffee table and picks up the DVD. He gets up and puts the disc into the DVD player. He sits down again as the image of the main room of 221B Baker Street appears on the television screen.**

**SHERLOCK: Was that supposed to happen? The light going down? Okay. Oh, ah, hmm.**

**Sherlock appears on the screen, pacing around 221B.**

**SHERLOCK (to the person behind the camera): So, what do I, what do I, what do you want me to do at the end? Shall I, umm... (he pauses in thought) Smile and wink. I do that sometimes, no idea why. People seem to like it, (he turns and walks away from the camera) humanizes me.**

A few chuckles could be heard throughout the room. Sherlock, pacing. He was nervous about making the video for John, perhaps? He’d obviously never made one before and had no idea what to do, but Lestrade had threatened him to make it. Still, it was amusing to know that not even Sherlock knew why he did the smile-wink-click thing.

**LESTRADE: Fine, whatever.**

**SHERLOCK (turning back to the camera): Why am I doing this again?**

**LESTRADE: You're gonna miss the dinner.**

**SHERLOCK: Of course I'm going to miss dinner. There'll be people. How could John be having a birthday dinner? All his friends hate him. You only have to look at their faces. I wrote an essay on suppressed hatred in close proximity based entirely on his friends. On reflection, it probably wasn't a very good choice of gift. (he pauses, thinking) What was my excuse again?**

**LESTRADE: You said you had a thing.**

**SHERLOCK: Ah, right. Yes, that's right. A thing.**

**LESTRADE: You might wanna elaborate.**

**SHERLOCK (confidently): No, no, no. Only lies have detail. Right, just, I need a moment to, umm, figure out what I'm gonna do.**

**JOHN (looking down at his glass): I can tell you what you can do. You can stop being dead. (he sips his whisky again)**

**SHERLOCK: Okay. (John looks up, startled)**

As does everyone in the room. This reaction causes the screen to pause at that moment as if their captor was waiting for their reactions.

“There is _no_ way that he could’ve known what was going to happen _that_ far into the future. That he was going to fake his own death and John would be watching this version and would say that right at that moment. It’s all just a coincidence, right?” Sally asked, startled like a stout. Her voice had just the slightest trace of a tremble.

“A right lucky coincidence if there ever was one,” Lestrade agreed. “Now that we know Sherlock’s alive, it seems even more unreal.”

Anderson, on the other hand, was absolutely shaking with excitement. “Oh, my God! How does he do it? How can you guys not be picking up on the signs? They’re all there! Even Sherlock has been leaving them in his video to John!”

Before anyone could try to convince him otherwise, the video recommenced.

**SHERLOCK: Okay, I'm ready now. (he sits in his armchair)**

“Oh.” Anderson deflated like an overripe tomato.

**SHERLOCK: Hello, John. I'm sorry I'm not there at the moment, I'm very busy. However, many happy returns. Oh, and don't worry. I'm gonna be with you again very soon.**

Anderson was back up again, excited as ever. It was like nothing could keep him down. “How can you not see the signs? It’s all there! It’s way too much of a coincidence!” he couldn’t contain himself.

“God, you’re like a hyperactive puppy!” Sally groaned, swatting at him in annoyance.

**The doorbell of John's home rings.**

“It’s Sherlock!”

“No, it’s not Sherlock, Anderson,” Sally tried to get him to calm down, to no avail. He was already far too wound up.

“It’s probably just Mary at the door,” Lestrade said.

**He pauses the DVD and gets up to answer the door.**

*****

**The pub. Anderson is still sitting alone at the table.**

**ANDERSON (excitedly): He's coming back. (he laughs to himself quietly, looking down at his map)**

*****

**A London street. Lestrade walks along the street, his eyes on his phone. He glances up and a man holding a copy of the newspaper the Daily Express. The back page features a picture of three football players and the headline reads "The Game is Back On!" Lestrade stares at it for a while before smiling wryly and turning away.**

“Another clue! The game is back on!” Anderson announced. He was outright giddy at the prospect.

*****

**John Watson's home. The DVD goes from paused to playing. On the screen, Sherlock Holmes smiles and winks at the camera.**

“Who played the video again? Wasn’t John at the door?” Molly asked.

Sally shrugged. “Maybe it was on a timer and just began playing again after a certain amount of time?”

“No! That’s not it! Don’t you see? That was all Sherlock, too! He winked at us because he knows that he’s coming back! He knows _everything_!” Anderson’s legs were both bouncing with intense vigour.

Meanwhile, Mycroft scoffed. “I highly doubt that my little brother knows _everything_ , and while he is far more intelligent than any of you, I doubt he’d have the insight for this whole scheme, we’re seeing.”

Anderson wasn’t having any of it, though, he was still far too wound up and he wouldn’t let anything stop the roll he was on. He was right – right about everything! Sherlock was alive. He was coming back! The signs were all there and they already knew that Sherlock would be back soon, so nothing could convince him otherwise!

Sally sighed, throwing her head down in her hands in earnest. How could she ever have slept with this lunatic?

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	53. 3x1 Part 2 The Empty Hearse

_“Thanks for dealing with my disorganization! Whatever you think about Sherlock, it doesn’t matter, because there’s always more to come!”_ Though there was no voice, the words on the screen almost oozed enthusiasm. _“He’s a human being, too, and you’ll all get to see that for sure real soon! But first…”_ The words trailed off with an ellipse.

“But first _what?_ ” Anderson demanded, nearly jumping out of his seat.

“Calm down,” Sally hissed in his ear. “I’m sure we’ll find out soon. Why else would we still be here?”

“I guess you’re right.”

Sally sat back. “Maybe it’s more of John beating up Sherlock.”

**LATER. The three of them have presumably been thrown out of the restaurant and have relocated to a café. Sherlock sits on one side of a table wearing his coat, his fingers steepled in front of him. John and Mary, also in their coats, sit side by side opposite him with their arms folded.**

“So you haven’t strangled him yet, John.” Lestrade laughed. “That’s good.”

**SHERLOCK: I calculated that there were thirteen possibilities once I’d invited Moriarty onto the roof.**

**Flashbacks of Sherlock on the rooftop of Bart’s intersperse the following dialogue.**

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!” Anderson whispered excitedly. He was finally going to figure out how Sherlock did it. How he faked his own death.

**SHERLOCK (voiceover): I wanted to avoid dying if at all possible.**

**Sherlock rapidly looks around the roof and all the surrounding buildings, visually calculating trajectories, angles and even the possibility of a ladder being lowered from a helicopter.**

**SHERLOCK (voiceover): The first scenario involved hurling myself into a parked hospital van filled with washing bags. Impossible. The angle was too steep. Secondly, a system of Japanese wrestling…**

**JOHN (interrupting): You know, for a genius, you can be remarkably thick.**

**SHERLOCK: What?**

**JOHN (tightly): I don’t care how you faked it, Sherlock. I wanna know why.**

“What?” Anderson actually _did_ jump to his feet this time. “No! John, why would you stop him? I wanted to know how he did it!”

**SHERLOCK (bewildered): Why? Because Moriarty had to be stopped.**

**He looks at John’s expression.**

“I think he already figured that out,” Molly murmured.

Mycroft sniffed. “Indeed.”

**SHERLOCK: Oh. ‘Why’ as in...**

**He lifts a finger, pointing it in John’s direction. John nods.**

**SHERLOCK: I see. Yes. ‘Why?’ That’s a little more difficult to explain.**

**JOHN (darkly): I’ve got all night.**

**SHERLOCK (clearing his throat and looking down): Actually, um, that was mostly Mycroft’s idea.**

Mycroft sighed as Lestrade barked out a laugh. “Brother throwing you under the bus?” he asked the senior Holmes.

**JOHN: Oh, so it’s your brother’s plan?**

**MARY (pointing towards Sherlock): Oh, he would have needed a confidant...**

“I’m starting to really not like her,” Molly said. “I can’t put my finger on it, but she feels…off. And she also keeps making the situation worse. No offence, John.” She looked at John, who was watching his presumably future wife with intense intrigue.

He shrugged.

**SHERLOCK (nodding at her in agreement): Mm-hm.**

**Mary trails off at John’s look.**

**MARY: Sorry.**

**She refolds her arms and looks down. John turns back to Sherlock.**

**JOHN: But he was the only one? The only one who knew?**

**Sherlock closes his eyes briefly and seems to force the next sentence out.**

**SHERLOCK: Couple of others.**

All of Sherlock’s friends winced. Mycroft and Molly, and now a couple of others on top of that, but none of them knew? Who else could it be? Who else did Sherlock know and trust more than them?

**John lowers his head. Sherlock talks quickly.**

**SHERLOCK: It was a very elaborate plan – it had to be. The next of the thirteen possibilities...**

**JOHN (in a despairing whisper): Who else?**

**He looks up to Sherlock.**

**JOHN: Who else knew?**

**Sherlock hesitates.**

**JOHN: Who?**

**SHERLOCK: Molly.**

**JOHN (angrily): Molly?**

“Of course, Molly,” Mycroft said matter-of-factly. “She wasn’t being targeted by Moriarty, therefore she wasn’t in danger and could act without being watched.”

“Moriarty was probably testing Sherlock the day he met him. He was Molly’s boyfriend and trying to see if Sherlock would be jealous because he assumed that Sherlock might like her back. When he didn’t, Moriarty dismissed her,” Lestrade pointed out. “He passed the test without even realizing he was taking a test.”

While it made sense, the detective’s words still hurt. Molly looked down. She knew that Sherlock didn’t like her in the romantic sense – that much was clear. He was just using her most of the time to get to the cadavers, but he still cared about her in some regard, right?

**MARY (softly): John.**

**SHERLOCK: Molly Hooper – and some of my homeless network, and that’s all.**

“His homeless network?” John asked despairingly. “He trusted a bunch of tramps over us?”

“He trusts them, and they trust him. Besides, if they blabbed – which they probably wouldn’t – who would believe them? And Moriarty doesn’t care about them, nor do his associates,” Lestrade reasoned. “They have that advantage over us.”

John sighed.

**JOHN: Okay. (He sits up a little and glances at Mary, who gives him a sympathetic smile. He turns to Sherlock again.) Okay. So just your brother, and Molly Hooper, and a hundred tramps.**

**Sherlock chuckles.**

**SHERLOCK: No! Twenty-five at most.**

“Oh, he better not have-!” John began, only for his anger to be interrupted by his on-screen self jumping into action.

**John hurls himself across the table and attempts to throttle his old friend again.**

*****

**LATER. The three of them have presumably been thrown out of the café and have relocated to a kebab shop. John and Mary stand leaning with their backs against the counter. John apparently managed more than just an attempted throttling, because Sherlock has taken his coat off and is holding a paper napkin to a cut on his lower lip. He looks at the blood on the napkin, wincing, then presses it to his lip again. He looks at John as he raises his head, avoiding Sherlock’s gaze.**

“God, John, how many restaurants are you going to get yourself kicked out of?” Sally whistled.

**SHERLOCK: Seriously, it’s not a joke? (He gestures to his own top lip.) You’re-you’re really keeping this?**

**John clears his throat and meets Sherlock’s eyes.**

**JOHN: Yeah.**

**SHERLOCK: You’re sure?**

**JOHN: Mary likes it.**

“Really?” Anderson squeaked. “Why? It’s awful!”

**SHERLOCK: Mmmmmm, no she doesn’t.**

**JOHN: She does.**

**SHERLOCK: She doesn’t.**

**John glances briefly round at Mary, then does a double-take. She makes incoherent apologetic noises.**

**JOHN: Oh! (He tries to cover his moustache with his hand.) Brilliant.**

**MARY: I’m sorry. Oh, I’m sorry – I didn’t know how to tell you.**

A few of the viewers burst into laughter. John just had his head in his hands yet again.

“Poor John! You can never win, eh?” Lestrade clapped him on the back.

**JOHN: No, no, this is charming!**

**He points angrily at Sherlock, clearly referring to his talent for instant deduction.**

**JOHN: I’ve really missed this!**

“Funny. It doesn’t _sound_ like you missed it,” Anderson commented, scratching his chin.

**He looks down, then takes an aggressive step towards Sherlock and gets into his face.**

**JOHN: One Word, Sherlock. That is all I would have needed. One word to let me know that you were alive.**

Mrs. Hudson huffed. “Now you know how I feel about that phone call…”

**He steps back, breathing heavily.**

**SHERLOCK (quietly): I’ve nearly been in contact so many times, but...**

**John laughs disbelievingly.**

**SHERLOCK: ...I worried that, you know, you might say something indiscreet.**

**JOHN: What?**

**SHERLOCK: Well, you know, let the cat out of the bag.**

**JOHN (stepping closer again): Oh, so this is my fault?**

**Mary laughs with disbelief.**

**MARY: Oh, God!**

**JOHN (shouting angrily): Why am I the only one who thinks that this is wrong – the only one reacting like a human being?**

“To be honest, John, you’re kind of overreacting,” Lestrade said.

**SHERLOCK: Over-reacting.**

“See? It’s Sherlock. You expect him to do anything differently?”

“Guess not, Greg,” John muttered.

**JOHN (furiously): “Over-reacting”?**

**MARY: John!**

**JOHN (still shouting): “Over-reacting.” So you fake your own death...**

**SHERLOCK: Shh!**

**JOHN: ...and you waltz in ’ere large as bloody life...**

**SHERLOCK: Shh!**

**JOHN (initially more quietly but getting louder all the time): ...but I’m not supposed to have a problem with that, no, because Sherlock Holmes thinks it’s a perfectly OKAY THING TO DO!**

**SHERLOCK (shouting): Shut up, John! I don’t want everyone knowing I’m still alive!**

**JOHN (shouting): Oh, so it’s still a secret, is it?**

**SHERLOCK (loudly): Yes! It’s still a secret.**

**He looks around at the other customers in the shop.**

“Seriously?” Sally asked. Then she started muttering. “How is it still a secret now? No wonder Sherlock didn’t tell you, John, if this is how you’re going to react. Good thing he already took out Moriarty’s network.”

John just blushed at his own behaviour. Sure, he was angry, and sure it had been two years, so he wasn’t sure how the him on the screen felt about all this, but it was bloody embarrassing how much of a child he was being. Sherlock had faked his own death to protect him, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade from snipers, then took down Moriarty and all of his network, all the while, still protecting him by keeping him in the dark and leaving him without a target on his back. And yet, all the while, he’d let John think he was dead, let him grieve, let him think that he hadn’t done enough to keep him with them. And he’d had to live with that guilt – the guilt that he wasn’t a good enough friend – for two years! Honestly, right now, he didn’t know _what_ to think.

**SHERLOCK (casually): Promise you won’t tell anyone.**

**JOHN (angrily, sarcastically): Swear to God!**

**Finally, he looks around at the other customers and backs down a little, blowing out a long breath. Sherlock steps closer to him and speaks quietly.**

**SHERLOCK: London is in danger, John. There’s an imminent terrorist attack and I need your help.**

**John stares at him in amazement, then turns to throw a quirky ‘can you believe this guy?’ look at Mary. He turns back to Sherlock.**

**JOHN: My help?**

**Sherlock’s eyes narrow as he deduces John’s genuine reaction to his request, then he smiles.**

**SHERLOCK: You have missed this. Admit it. -**

“I have a bad feeling that this won’t end well…” Anderson whispered. His hands clenched and unclenched repeatedly.

- **The thrill of the chase, the blood pumping through your veins, just the two of us against the rest of the world...**

**John grabs his lapels, rears his head back and then moves in for the kill.**

Everyone hissed as the screen went black.

*****

**LATER. The three of them have presumably been thrown out of the kebab shop. Sherlock, wearing his coat again, stands just outside the door with his head tilted back a little. Blood is running from his nose.**

“John!” Mrs. Hudson scolded.

**SHERLOCK: I don’t understand.**

**He pinches the bridge of his nose with one hand and holds a paper napkin underneath with the other.**

**SHERLOCK: I said I’m sorry. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?**

**Mary is standing beside him, while John is a few yards up the road hailing an approaching taxi.**

**MARY: Gosh. You don’t know anything about human nature, do you?**

**Sherlock lowers his head and looks at her.**

**SHERLOCK: Mmm, nature? No. Human? ...No.**

John scoffed. “At least he finally admits it out loud.”

“You gotta admit, though, John. You _did_ blow things a bit out of proportion.”

“What?” John rounded on Lestrade. “He comes back _just_ because he needs my help after two years? I’m sorry, Greg, but the way I see it, I was completely justified in my actions!”

“Will be,” Anderson cut in.

“What?” Both John and Lestrade turned to look at him in confusion.

“You will be justified in your actions. This is the future, remember?”

“Oh, shut up, Anderson!” Sally rolled her eyes.

**MARY: I’ll talk him round.**

**Sherlock takes the napkin from under his nose and looks at her curiously.**

**SHERLOCK: You will?**

**MARY (smiling confidently): Oh yeah.**

**Sherlock looks at her closely and goes into deduction mode. Many, many words appear in his mind, some of them repeated several times. They include, in no particular order:**

*****

**only child**

**linguist**

**Clever**

**part time nurse**

**Short-sighted**

**Guardian**

**Bakes Own Bread**

**Disillusioned**

**Cat Lover**

**Romantic**

**Appendix Scar**

**Lib Dem**

**Secret Tattoo**

**Size 12**

**Liar**

*****

“Whoa,” Anderson breathed. “That looks a little different from usual. Well, from before. It used to only be a few things and they didn’t move. Now there’s a whole bunch of words just floating around her head? How is he even getting most of these things?”

“Anderson, this is why you’ll never be as good of a detective as Sherlock. You pick up on the wrong things,” Lestrade said.

“What did I miss?”

“Sure, there were a bunch of words, but did you even pay attention to what they said? Sherlock picked up that she’s a liar.”

“A liar?”

“That’s probably what gave Molly the bad feeling.” Lestrade shrugged. “That or the fact that she likes cats.”

**She smiles at him, then looks around as John calls to her.**

**JOHN: Mary.**

**She turns to give Sherlock a last smile, then walks over to John. They get into the taxi and it drives away. Sherlock watches them go.**

**In the taxi, John indignantly turns to Mary.**

**JOHN: Can you believe his nerve?**

**Smiling, Mary looks at him.**

**MARY: I like him.**

Sally gasped in surprise. “She may indeed be the first person to ever like Sherlock _before_ really getting to know him.”

“How do you mean?” Anderson asked.

“You know, it takes a bit to get past his…attitude. I still find him completely aggravating, but she doesn’t mind it!”

“Maybe because she doesn’t treat him like a criminal or speak without thinking first?” Lestrade knocked his two employees’ heads together with that statement.

**JOHN: What?**

**MARY (shrugging and still smiling): I like him.**

**She turns her head away and looks out of the window. John narrows his eyes, looking completely bewildered.**

**Back at the kebab shop, Sherlock looks down thoughtfully, then turns and walks away.**

*****

**ST BARTHOLOMEW’S HOSPITAL. Molly Hooper walks into a locker room, takes out her keys and opens her locker. As the door swings open, the mirror on the inside reveals Sherlock standing a short distance away behind her, smiling slightly. She gasps and turns to look at him, starting to smile.**

*****

**In an underground car park, Greg Lestrade walks across the area searching his pockets as he goes. Behind him, Sherlock’s distinctive silhouette quickly walks past and disappears into the shadows of an unlit area of the car park. Unaware of this, Greg continues rummaging in various pockets. Something metallic clinks noisily in the darkness. Greg looks around but can see nothing and he resumes his search through his pockets until he finally finds what he was looking for. Tipping a cigarette out of the pack, he sticks it into his mouth, puts the rest of the pack back into his pocket and then flicks his lighter and raises it towards the end of the cigarette.**

Sally and Anderson frowned at their boss. “Back on cigarettes?”

Lestrade shrugged. “I guess I didn’t take those two years well. I swear if I relapse, I’ll quit again.”

**SHERLOCK’s VOICE (in the darkness): Those things’ll kill you.**

**Greg freezes, the flame not quite reaching the end of his cigarette as he stares into the distance while his brain catches up with what – and who – he just heard. Finally, he lowers his lighter and takes his fag out of his mouth.**

**LESTRADE: Ooh, you bastard!**

**SHERLOCK (walking towards him out of the darkness): It’s time to come back. You’ve been letting things slide, Graham.**

Anderson raised an eyebrow. “Graham?”

“He tried.” Lestrade would give him that much.

**LESTRADE: Greg!**

**SHERLOCK: Greg.**

Molly giggled. “He was trying to be dramatic again, but you just ruined it for him.”

**Greg stares at him for a long moment, his lips slowly lifting to reveal his teeth. Grimacing, he lunges towards Sherlock...**

Everyone tensed, wondering if Sherlock was going to be attacked _yet_ again by someone who he revealed himself to. However, they were surprised by the outcome.

**…and wraps his arms around his neck and pulls him into a tight hug. Sherlock groans – quite possibly because the hug, while adorable for us to look at, is doing no good to his recent injuries acquired in Serbia – but he tolerates Greg’s affection.**

“See, John? _That’s_ how you react to someone coming back from the dead!” Anderson declared.

Lestrade shuffled in his seat. “Well, maybe not the best way, since he was probably still injured from that last mission in Serbia…”

*****

**John and Mary are in bed. Mary is asleep, but John stares up at the ceiling, lost in thought.**

*****

**221A BAKER STREET. MRS. HUDSON is in the kitchen washing up a pan. The radio is on.**

**RADIO: ... with an anti-terrorism bill this important, the government feels duty-bound to push through the legislation with all due expe…**

**Hearing the main front door being opened, she turns down the volume and goes to her front door and opens it, brandishing the pan in front of her.**

“Oh, God,” Molly murmured.

“D’you think she smacked him with the pan?” Anderson wasn’t sure whether to be fearful or rife with anticipation.

**The front door closes, and a familiar silhouette appears behind the frosted window of the internal door. Mrs. Hudson stares at it in disbelief – and then Sherlock pushes open the door and looks at her. She screams hysterically.**

Anderson groaned instead. There was neither fear nor anticipation; instead, there was discomfort. “I did _not_ need to see down your throat, Mrs. Hudson.”

*****

**FLASHBACK to the end of “The Reichenbach Fall.”**

Once again, everyone was confused.

“Why are we back here again? Is this another one of Anderson’s theories?” Sally asked, looking at the others.

Anderson shrugged.

**John gets out of the taxi and heads towards the hospital. Cut to partway through his phone conversation with Sherlock when John tries again to go towards the hospital.**

**SHERLOCK (over the phone): No, stay exactly where you are.**

**JOHN (into phone): Where are you?**

**SHERLOCK: Don’t move. Keep your eyes fixed on me.**

**On the rooftop’s edge, a dummy has been dressed in replicas of Sherlock’s coat and scarf. It’s wearing a curly dark wig, and a life-sized photo of Sherlock’s face has been stuck on the front of its head. One hand is raised to hold a phone.**

“What the heck is that?” Sally nearly shrieked. “A dummy?”

“A dummy of Sherlock Holmes. Seems counterintuitive if you ask me,” Lestrade said. He held back a laugh. This would be entertaining to say the least, but there was no way it was real.

**JOHN’s VOICE (over the phone): What-what’s happening? What’s going on?**

**A few feet behind the dummy, Sherlock is sitting on the roof with his back against a low chimney. Jim Moriarty is sitting beside him. Sherlock is holding a rope to keep the dummy upright. He speaks tearfully into another phone.**

There was still immense confusion swirling around them, but a bit of humour as well. How could this be one of Anderson’s theories? If it was, he’d gone completely looney. It was all just a prank and Moriarty was in on it?

“What the bloody hell is going on?” Sally asked.

“I have no idea,” Anderson replied.

“You never have any bloody idea!”

**SHERLOCK: Please, will you do this for me? Please.**

**JOHN: Do what?**

**SHERLOCK: This phone call – it’s my note. That’s what people do, don’t they? Leave a note.**

**Beside him, Jim lowers his head and giggles quietly. Sherlock takes the phone away from his mouth and angrily but silently shushes him.**

“This is so weird…” Anderson whispered.

“If it’s one of yours, it’ll just get weirder; I’m sure of it,” Sally told him.

**JOHN’s VOICE (over the phone): Leave a note when?**

**SHERLOCK (raising the phone to his mouth again): Goodbye, John.**

**JOHN’s VOICE (over the phone): No...**

**Switching off the phone, Sherlock flicks the rope and releases it and the dummy topples over the edge of the roof. Jim chuckles, and John’s horrified voice can be heard screaming from ground level.**

**JOHN: Sherlock!**

**JIM: Oh-ho!**

**He and Sherlock both laugh as if delighted that their plan has worked. They turn and look at each other, still giggling, but when their eyes meet their smiles slowly begin to fade as if they are starting to realize something or to feel something new. Sherlock frowns a little, looking puzzled, but Jim waits patiently for him to catch up. After a few moments Sherlock works it out and begins to lean towards him, and Jim moves to meet him. Their lips are just about to touch when...**

Sally had had enough. She screamed. “Anderson, what the bloody hell are you on?” Before he – or any of the others – could snap out of their shock to answer, the next part played.

*****

**ANDERSON (horrified): What?! Are you out of your mind?**

“Yeah, I think I just threw up a little in my mouth,” Molly said. “How could _anyone_ think that Sherlock and that… _psychopath_ liked each other?”

“What’s with people and making Sherlock gay?” John muttered. “First, they’re putting him with me, and then with Moriarty! Who’s next? Lestrade? His own brother, Mycroft? God!”

**He is standing and staring down at a dark-haired young woman sitting in his living room. She shrugs.**

**LAURA: I don’t see why not. It’s just as plausible as some of your theories.**

Lestrade rolled his eyes. “That’s saying a lot.”

**Behind her, the walls of the room are absolutely covered with notes, photographs and Post It notes. Pieces of red string link some of the paperwork together, some of the strings even crossing the room. Laura is not the only person in the room with Anderson – six or seven others are squeezed onto the furniture. At least three of them are wearing deerstalker hats, and one is wearing a Sherlock-like coat and scarf.**

**ANDERSON: Look, if you’re not going to take it seriously, Laura, you can... (He makes a ‘get out’ gesture.)**

**LAURA (angrily): I do take it seriously. (She looks disapprovingly around at the others.) I don’t think we should wear hats.**

“Yeah. He wouldn’t like that very much,” Lestrade agreed.

Sally wrinkled her nose. “She sounds like one of those weird people on the internet who write stories about people. What are they called? Fanfiction?”

**ANDERSON: I founded ‘The Empty Hearse’ so like-minded people could meet, discuss theories...**

**He chokes on his words and steps closer to Laura, looking down at her angrily.**

**ANDERSON: Sherlock’s still out there.**

**She rolls her eyes.**

**ANDERSON: I’m convinced of it.**

**Laura’s eyes have drifted to the TV behind him and her eyes widen. Anderson turns to look. The sound is muted but a reporter talking live from somewhere in London is bringing some breaking news. The rolling headline at the bottom of the screen announces, “HAT DETECTIVE ALIVE”. Underneath, a separate headline states, “Magnussen summoned before parliamentary...” and presumably the next word is “commission” but nobody is paying attention to that news.**

**LAURA: Oh my God.**

“If that timing wasn’t perfect, I don’t know what is!” Anderson exclaimed, completely ecstatic.

**Instantly everyone’s phones begin to signal text alerts. Everybody scrabbles in their pockets. Laura holds up her own phone to show the screen to Anderson, her face alight with excitement.**

**LAURA: Oh. My. God!**

**On the phones, Twitter is full of hashtags like #SherlockHolmesAlive! and #SherlockIsNotDead, and #SherlockLives, and more messages stream in by the second.**

*****

**Sitting up in bed, Mary is holding an iPad and reading aloud from one of John’s old blog entries.**

**MARY (narrating dramatically): “His movements were so silent. So furtive, he reminded me of a trained bloodhound picking out a scent.”**

**JOHN (offscreen a short distance away): You what?**

**MARY: “I couldn’t help thinking what an amazing criminal he’d make if he turned his talents against the law.”**

“When was this entry from?” Lestrade asked, furrowing his eyebrows. “I don’t remember reading it.”

John shrugged, pointing at the screen. “It says Tuesday.”

Sally rolled her eyes. “Yeah, that helps a lot. Thanks.”

**John comes out of the small ensuite bathroom, his lower face and upper lip covered with shaving foam.**

Lestrade chuckled. “You’re shaving it off, aren’t ya? Just ‘cause Sherlock’s back?”

**JOHN: Don’t read that.**

**MARY (still looking at the screen): The famous blog, finally!**

**JOHN: Come on – that’s...**

**MARY: ...ancient history, yes, I know. But it’s not, though, is it, because he’s...**

**She raises her eyes from the iPad and stops when she sees John.**

**MARY (smiling): What are you doing?**

**JOHN: Having a wash.**

**MARY (grinning): You’re shaving it off.**

**JOHN: Well, you hate it.**

**MARY: Sherlock hates it.**

**JOHN: Apparently everyone hates it.**

**Mary giggles.**

**MARY: Are you gonna see him again?**

**JOHN: No – I’m going to work.**

**MARY: Oh. And after work, are you gonna see him again?**

**Rolling his eyes, John walks back into the bathroom.**

**MARY: God, I’ve had six months of bristly kisses for me, and then His Nibs turns up...**

**JOHN (looking into the mirror while he applies more shaving foam): I don’t shave for Sherlock Holmes.**

Sally snorted. “Put that on a t-shirt.”

**MARY: Oh! You should put that on a T-shirt!**

Sally’s face flushed red.

**JOHN: Shut up.**

**MARY (cheekily): Or what?**

**JOHN: Or I’ll marry you.**

“Wait. You never proposed at dinner that night; isn’t that a bit of a spoiler for her?” Anderson turned to look at John.

He sighed. “She knew what I was trying to say anyway. It was written all over her face.”

**He turns to look at her. She grins. Rinsing off his hands, John picks up his razor, looks into the mirror, sighs, then lifts the razor towards his upper lip.**

*****

**SHERLOCK (voiceover): London. It’s like a great cesspool into which all kinds of criminals, agents, and drifters are irresistibly drained.**

**In the living room of 221B, Sherlock – wearing a red dressing gown over his clothes – has been peering at the wall behind the sofa, and now he steps onto the sofa and begins to stick up maps, notes and paperwork.**

**SHERLOCK (voiceover): Sometimes it’s not a question of ‘Who?’; it’s a question of ‘Who Knows?’**

**Somewhere in London, a man in his twenties or thirties with a shaved head is sitting on a park bench eating a sandwich.**

**SHERLOCK (voiceover): If this man cancels his papers...**

**Near the bench, a scruffily dressed and rather grubby woman – presumably one of Sherlock’s Homeless Network – takes photos of the man on her phone.**

Anderson turned to Sally and whispered, “You ever wonder how he gets such loyalty from those buggers? I know he pays them to do it, but why do they go through with it? They could just take the money and leave.”

Lestrade leaned over the two. “Now that it’s a network, it’s less about the money and more about being a part of it, I think. What d'you think those people would do if they heard one of their own cheated Sherlock Holmes outta few quid?”

“I’d think he was right looney,” Anderson replied.

“Exactly.”

**SHERLOCK (voiceover): ...I need to know.**

**Keeping a wary eye on the man, the woman sends her photos to Sherlock, and he pins one of them onto the wall.**

**Elsewhere, a woman with a dog on a lead walks through a street market.**

**SHERLOCK (voiceover): If this woman leaves London without putting her dog into kennels, I need to know.**

**Another homeless woman photographs the dog owner and texts it to Sherlock, who again pins the photo onto the wall. He continues sticking up pictures of people and adding crosses and other marks to the pictures and the map underneath.**

**SHERLOCK (voiceover): There are certain people – they are markers. If they start to move, I’ll know something’s up – like rats deserting a sinking ship.**

*****

**John, now moustache-free, approaches and goes into the surgery in which he works.**

*****

**221B. LIVING ROOM.**

**MYCROFT: All very interesting, Sherlock, but the terror alert has been raised to Critical.**

**The brothers are sitting opposite each other in front of the unlit fire, Sherlock still in his dressing gown. A chess set between sits them. Sherlock leans back from making a move, his eyes locked onto Mycroft’s.**

Sally rolled her eyes. “Chess? That’s so cliché,” she whined.

Lestrade shrugged. “You gotta admit, though, it’s expected of those two.”

**SHERLOCK: Boring. Your move.**

**MYCROFT: We have solid information. An attack is coming.**

**He glances down towards the table between them.**

**SHERLOCK: “Solid information.” A secret terrorist organization’s planning an attack – that’s what secret terrorist organizations do, isn’t it? It’s their version of golf.**

**MYCROFT: An agent gave his life to tell us that.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, well, perhaps he shouldn’t have done. He was obviously just trying to show off.**

John scoffed. “And you don’t?” he muttered under his breath.

**Mycroft appears to hold back a sigh.**

**MYCROFT: None of these markers of yours is behaving in any way suspiciously? (He glances down again, and we hear him make a move.) Your move.**

**SHERLOCK: No, Mycroft, but you have to trust me. I’ll find the answer. It’ll be in an odd phrase in an online blog, or an unexpected trip to the countryside, or a misplaced Lonely Hearts ad.**

**He had only glanced down briefly before speaking, but out of view, there’s a slight click as he moves his piece.**

**SHERLOCK: Your move.**

**Mycroft glances down briefly before raising his eyes to Sherlock’s again.**

**MYCROFT: I’ve given the Prime Minister my personal assurance you’re on the case.**

**SHERLOCK: I am on the case. We’re both on the case. Look at us right now.**

**On the table in between them, there’s a loud buzzing and a red light flashes.**

“Wait. What?” Anderson jerked forward, eyebrows raised. “You’re playing Operation?” He cast his eyes to Mycroft, who scowled at his failure on the screen.

**MYCROFT: Oh, bugger!**

**He angrily drops the small tweezers he was using in their game of “Operation.” We realize that a clever perspective shot had lured us into believing they were playing chess, but the chess set is actually on the coffee table in front of the sofa.**

**SHERLOCK: Oopsie!**

Anderson turned to Sally. _“’Oopsie’?”_ he mouthed.

She shrugged back, just as confused as he was.

**Mycroft returns the piece to the board.**

**SHERLOCK (looking at which piece Mycroft had failed to remove successfully): Can’t handle a broken heart – how very telling.**

**Looking smug, he sits back in his chair and crosses his legs.**

**MYCROFT: Don’t be smart.**

**SHERLOCK: That takes me back. (In a little boy’s voice) “Don’t be smart, Sherlock. I’m the smart one.”**

Sally immediately burst out laughing, imagining Mycroft with baby-fat cheeks, wearing children’s overalls and speaking in that high-pitched voice.

“What are you laughing about?” Anderson whispered.

“Nothing,” she said.

**MYCROFT (glowering at him): I am the smart one.**

**Sherlock looks off to the side reflectively.**

**SHERLOCK: I used to think I was an idiot.**

**MYCROFT: Both of us thought you were an idiot, Sherlock. We had nothing else to go on ’til we met other children.**

Molly frowned. “So your parents were incredibly smart, too?” she asked him.

He was about to answer when Anderson scoffed. “Of course, they were! Gotta be smart to raise smart kids, right?”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Then let’s hope you never have kids, shall we?”

Anderson gave him a scandalized look but said nothing.

**SHERLOCK: Oh, yes. That was a mistake.**

**MYCROFT: Ghastly. What were they thinking of?**

**SHERLOCK: Probably something about trying to make friends.**

**MYCROFT: Oh yes. Friends. Of course, you go in for that sort of thing now.**

**SHERLOCK (looking at him closely): And you don’t? Ever?**

**MYCROFT: If you seem slow to me, Sherlock, can you imagine what real people are like? I’m living in a world of goldfish.**

“Real people?” John asked, turning to Mycroft. “What is he, your brother or your imaginary friend?”

Lestrade ran his hands down to his knees, huffing out a breath. “Nice to know where I stand, then.”

Mycroft furrowed his brows.

**Sherlock steeples his fingers in front of him and looks at his brother.**

**SHERLOCK: Yes, but I’ve been away for two years.**

**MYCROFT: So?**

**SHERLOCK (shrugging): Oh, I don’t know. I thought perhaps you might have found yourself a…goldfish.**

**MYCROFT (looking appalled): Change the subject – now!**

“What? No girlfriend for the iceman?” Anderson whispered to Sally. Both dissolved into giggles.

**He stands up and walks over to the fireplace.**

**SHERLOCK: Rest assured, Mycroft – whatever this underground network of yours is up to, the secret will reside in something seemingly insignificant or bizarre.**

**Mrs. Hudson, carrying a tray of tea things, walks into the room with her traditional “Ooh-ooh!”**

**MYCROFT: Speaking of which...**

**Sherlock smiles.**

**MRS. HUDSON (happily, putting the tray on the dining table): I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it! Him – sitting in his chair again!**

**She looks at Mycroft.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Oh, isn’t it wonderful, Mr. Holmes?**

**MYCROFT: I can barely contain myself!**

“Oh, stop being so sarcastic!” Mrs. Hudson scolded. “You should be happy that your brother is back in London again!”

Mycroft’s scowl deepened. “Please, believe me, Mrs. Hudson; I truly am _jumping_ for joy,” he said dryly.

**SHERLOCK: Oh, he really can, you know.**

**MRS. HUDSON: He’s secretly pleased to see you underneath all that... (she pulls a sour face).**

Lestrade couldn’t hide his laugh.

**MYCROFT: Sorry – which of us?**

**MRS. HUDSON: Both of you.**

**She leaves the room.**

**SHERLOCK: Let’s play something different.**

“Wot? You gonna play Cluedo or something?” Sally asked with a snort.

“Oh no!” John jumped out of his seat. “Do _not_ let Sherlock play Cluedo!”

“Why not?” Anderson wondered.

“Because he’s convinced that the victim was the one who did it,” Lestrade answered for John.

**MYCROFT (with an exasperated sigh): Why are we playing games?**

**SHERLOCK: Well, London’s terror alert has been raised to Critical. (He flails his legs over the table in front of him and stands up.) I’m just passing the time. Let’s do deductions.**

Anderson raised an eyebrow. “Passing the time?”

“He’s just going to wait for something to happen?” Sally agreed wholeheartedly. That _wasn’t_ the way a typical person dealt with an imminent terrorist attack. Then again, Sherlock wasn’t a typical person.

Anderson wasn’t listening to her after that. Instead, he was leaning forward, eager to see both of the Holmes brothers at work deducing that strange hat.

**He walks over to the dining table and picks up a woollen bobble hat which has earflaps and a dangly woollen pom-pom hanging from each flap.**

**SHERLOCK: Client left this while I was out. What d’you reckon?**

“Do you regularly challenge each other with deducing the personal belongings of others?” Lestrade wondered.

**He tosses it to his brother.**

**MYCROFT (catching it): I’m busy.**

“This shouldn’t take too long, then,” Molly said curtly. “If you’re as good as you keep saying you are. We haven’t seen any of this so-called _intelligence_ of yours yet.”

Mycroft turned his dark gaze to her like a descending storm cloud. His eyes flashed. “You’re pushing the line, Ms. Hooper.”

**SHERLOCK: Oh, go on. It’s been an age.**

**Mycroft lifts the hat to his nose and sniffs, then looks across to Sherlock.**

**MYCROFT: I always win.**

**SHERLOCK: Which is why you can’t resist.**

**MYCROFT (quick fire): I find nothing irresistible in the hat of a well-travelled anxious sentimental unfit creature of habit with appalling halitosis...**

**He stops when he notices Sherlock’s widening smile.**

**MYCROFT: Damn.**

**He throws the hat back to Sherlock.**

**SHERLOCK: Isolated, too, don’t you think?**

**MYCROFT: Why would he be isolated?**

Mycroft turned his gaze furiously to the screen. Why isolated? He couldn’t see it. What could Sherlock see that he couldn’t?

**SHERLOCK: “He”?**

**MYCROFT: Obviously.**

**SHERLOCK: Why? Size of the hat?**

**MYCROFT: Don’t be silly. Some women have large heads too.**

**Sherlock flinches slightly, possibly at Mycroft’s insult to his intelligence.**

**MYCROFT: No – he’s recently had his hair cut. You can see the little hairs adhering to the perspiration stains on the inside.**

**Sherlock looks down at the hat, pouting slightly.**

**SHERLOCK: Some women have short hair, too.**

**MYCROFT: Balance of probability.**

**SHERLOCK: Not that you’ve ever spoken to a woman with short hair – or, you know, a woman.**

**MYCROFT: Stains show he’s out of condition, and he’s sentimental because the hat has been repaired three, four...**

**SHERLOCK: Five times. (He throws the hat back to his brother.) Very neatly. (Quickfire) The cost of the repairs exceeds the cost of the hat, so he's mawkishly attached to it, but it’s more than that. One, perhaps two, patches would indicate sentimentality, but five? Five’s excessive behaviour. Obsessive-compulsive.**

**MYCROFT: Hardly. Your client left it behind. What sort of an obsessive-compulsive would do that?**

**He throws the hat back to Sherlock, who grabs it with an exasperated grimace.**

**MYCROFT: The earlier patches are extensively sun-bleached, so he’s worn it abroad – in Peru.**

Anderson threw his hands up. “Wait! Wait, wait, wait. You just dropped that last clue! Why would an obsessive-compulsive leave the hat behind? Why did you just go to the next thing?” He turned to Mycroft, searching for answers.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “No wonder you’re always twelve steps behind if you get stuck onto such insignificant details such as that.”

**SHERLOCK: Peru?**

**MYCROFT: This is a chullo – the classic headgear of the Andes. It’s made of alpaca.**

**SHERLOCK (smirking): No.**

**MYCROFT: No?**

**SHERLOCK: Icelandic sheep wool. Similar, but very distinctive if you know what you’re looking for. I’ve written a blog on the varying tensile strengths of different natural fibres.**

**MRS. HUDSON (coming back into the room with a teapot): I’m sure there’s a crying need for that.**

“Why’s Mrs. Hudson so sassy all of a sudden?” Sally wondered.

“She’s always been like that,” John interrupted.

“Wot?”

“You just never noticed it before since you were too busy being angry at Sherlock for being himself.”

Sally turned her gaze to the floor.

**Sherlock pauses for a moment, then turns back to his brother.**

**SHERLOCK: You said he was anxious.**

**MYCROFT: The bobble on the left side has been badly chewed, which shows he’s a man of a nervous disposition but...**

**SHERLOCK (talking over him): ...but also a creature of habit because he hasn’t chewed the bobble on the right.**

**MYCROFT: Precisely.**

**Sherlock lifts the hat and sniffs it before lowering it again, grimacing.**

**SHERLOCK: Brief sniff of the offending bobble tells us everything we need to know about the state of his breath.**

**He turns away.**

**SHERLOCK (sarcastically): Brilliant!**

**MYCROFT: Elementary.**

**SHERLOCK: But you’ve missed his isolation.**

**MYCROFT: I don’t see it.**

Mycroft studied the hat further. From everything they were saying, he could pick it out, clear as day – despite the lack of smell – but the isolation still stumped him. How could he not see it?

**SHERLOCK: Plain as day.**

**MYCROFT: Where?**

**SHERLOCK: There for all to see.**

**MYCROFT: Tell me.**

**SHERLOCK: Plain as the nose on your...**

**MYCROFT: Tell me.**

**SHERLOCK (turning back to him): Well, anybody who wears a hat as stupid as this isn’t in the habit of hanging around other people, is he?**

Lestrade frowned. “Well, _that’s_ quite the assumption, innit? Just because _he_ doesn’t like weird hats doesn’t mean others feel the same.”

**MYCROFT: Not at all. Maybe he just doesn’t mind being different. He doesn’t necessarily have to be isolated.**

**SHERLOCK: Exactly.**

“What?” Yet again, Anderson was completely lost as the conversation switched directions abruptly.

**He looks down at the hat again. Mycroft blinks several times, apparently confused.**

**MYCROFT: I’m sorry?**

**SHERLOCK (looking at him): He’s different – so what? Why would he mind? You’re quite right.**

**He lifts the hat and perches it on the top of his head, then looks pointedly at his brother.**

**SHERLOCK: Why would anyone mind?**

A grin slowly grew on Lestrade’s face. “Oh. I see it now.”

Anderson’s head swivelled around so fast Lestrade was afraid it would come off. “What? What do you see?”

The detective inspector hid a laugh. “He’s just made a play at Mycroft’s own state of isolation.”

**Mycroft opens his mouth but seems to struggle to speak for a moment.**

**MYCROFT: ...I’m not lonely, Sherlock.**

**Sherlock tilts his head down and looks closely at him, then steps nearer with an intense expression on his face.**

**SHERLOCK: How would you know?**

Molly spluttered with laughter. He was sending a message to his brother so deep and emotional, but for the life of her, she couldn’t take him seriously while wearing that hat.

On the other hand, Anderson was wondering why Sherlock was even _wearing_ the hat. It wasn’t his, was it? He didn’t have halitosis, though the rest seemed to fit pretty well with the rest of him.

**Taking off the hat, he turns away. Mrs. Hudson, who has been pottering in the kitchen, comes to the doorway and smiles.**

**MYCROFT: Yes. Back to work if you don’t mind. Good morning.**

**Looking a little wide-eyed as a result of the recent conversation, he heads for the door. Behind him, Sherlock winks at Mrs. Hudson, who giggles happily.**

**SHERLOCK (turning to face the wall of information behind the sofa): Right. Back to work.**

*****

**JOHN’S SURGERY. Mary knocks on the door and looks in.**

**MARY: Mr. Summerson.**

**JOHN: Right.**

**MARY: Undescended testicle.**

**JOHN: ...Right.**

Unbridled laughter echoed through the room, yet again at John’s expense, and yet again, he wondered if the show was about Sherlock’s brilliance or his own embarrassment.

**Mary leaves again. The clock shows 10 past 10.**

*****

**221B. Sherlock holds up his phone and looks at the latest photos of one of his ‘markers.’ Mrs. Hudson comes to the door of the living room and watches while Sherlock draws a cross over the photo of the man which is pinned to the wall.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Sherlock.**

**SHERLOCK (absently): Mm?**

**MRS. HUDSON: Talk to John.**

**SHERLOCK: I tried talking to him. He made his position quite clear.**

*****

**In his surgery, John has his hand held up in front of him with the middle finger pointing upwards.**

Everyone turned to John.

“Who puts on gloves like that?” Sally asked incredulously.

**With his other hand, he pulls a medical glove tighter down onto his fingers. His patient is standing in front of him, naked from the waist down and looking awkward.**

**JOHN: Just relax, Mr. Summerson.**

**He walks towards him.**

*****

**MRS. HUDSON: What did he say?**

**SHERLOCK: F...**

*****

**JOHN: Cough.**

**He is cradling Mr. Summerson’s testicles with his gloved hand.**

Everyone recoiled in discomfort.

*****

**MRS. HUDSON: Ooh dear!**

**She turns away.**

*****

**Later, John sits looking at his computer in his surgery. The intercom beeps and he switches it on.**

**JOHN: Hi.**

**MARY (over intercom): Er, Mrs. Reeves. Thrush.**

**John lowers his head momentarily.**

**JOHN: Right.**

**The clock shows 4 minutes past 1.**

“Is that what it’s like every day at your work?” Anderson questioned.

“Pretty much,” John replied.

Anderson shuddered. “Glad I didn’t decide to become a doctor, then.”

*****

**At 221B, Sherlock is standing at the window. He grimaces slightly as Molly walks into the room behind him.**

**MOLLY: You wanted to see me?**

**SHERLOCK (turning to face her): Yes.**

**He starts to walk towards her.**

**SHERLOCK: Molly?**

**MOLLY: Yes?**

**SHERLOCK: Would you...**

**He stops, looking down, then slowly starts to walk closer.**

**SHERLOCK: Would you like to...**

Molly’s heart fluttered. Was he about to do what she thought he was about to do?

**MOLLY: ...have dinner?**

**SHERLOCK (simultaneously): ...solve crimes?**

**MOLLY (awkwardly): Ooh.**

Molly looked down, face flushed completely red.

*****

**John writes out a prescription while talking to the patient sitting behind him.**

**JOHN: Absolutely nothing to be ashamed of, Mrs. Reeves. It’s very common... (he turns and hands the prescription to her) ...but I’m recommending a course of...**

*****

**SHERLOCK: ...monkey glands.**

John furrowed his eyebrows. “I’m pretty sure that’s _not_ what cures thrush.”

**He is looking at the wall, while Molly sits on a dining chair beside Sherlock’s armchair. She bites back a smile as Sherlock turns towards the two clients in the room. A woman is sitting in what was John’s chair and a man stands beside her.**

**SHERLOCK: But enough about Professor Presbury. Tell us more about your case, Mr. Harcourt.**

**Molly speaks quietly to him as he walks past her.**

**MOLLY: Are you sure about this?**

**SHERLOCK: Absolutely.**

“Why are you even there, Molly?” Sally wondered, turning to the mousy pathologist.

Molly shrugged. “Sherlock needs an assistant and I was the first person who came to mind?”

Anderson laughed. “He just misses John and went with the next best thing. He should’ve picked me. I’ve been practicing.”

Molly glared at him. “Before his death, you wanted nothing to do with him!” she accused.

**MOLLY: Should I be making notes?**

**SHERLOCK: If it makes you feel better.**

**MOLLY: It’s just that that’s what John says he does, so if I’m being John...**

**SHERLOCK (sitting down in his chair): You’re not being John – you’re being yourself.**

Molly flushed again, though this time with pride instead of embarrassment. That was one of the nicest things Sherlock had ever said to her.

**Molly smiles proudly.**

**MR HARCOURT: Well, absolutely no one should have been able to empty that bank account other than myself and Helen.**

**Sherlock looks closely at him, zooming in on his jacket, then his hairline and then the skin above his eyes. He stands and walks closer to him.**

**SHERLOCK: Why didn’t you assume it was your wife?**

**MR HARCOURT: Because I’ve always had total faith in her.**

**SHERLOCK: No – it’s because you emptied it. (He points at the three areas on the man at which he had just looked and speaks rapidly.) Weight loss, hair dye, Botox; affair. (Whipping out a business card, he holds it out to Mrs. Harcourt.) Lawyer. Next!**

“What kind of idiot goes to _Sherlock Holmes_ to solve their crime just to reveal their own affair?” Anderson was shaking his head, utterly baffled.

*****

**Mary shows the next patient into the room and looks at John.**

**MARY: This is Mr. Blake. (Whispering) Piles.**

**John nods politely. The clock shows half past 3. John turns and smiles at his patient.**

**JOHN: Mr. Blake, hi.**

*****

**Sherlock is sitting on a stool close to a young woman who is sitting on the sofa. He is clasping her hands and patting them sympathetically while he talks softly to her.**

**SHERLOCK: And your pen pal’s emails just stopped, did they?**

“You think this is all just an act, or did his two years away gave him some actual emotions?” Sally whispered to Anderson.

He shrugged.

**The woman nods, whimpering as she cries. Molly looks across to her but then continues writing notes at the dining table. An older man is sitting beside the woman.**

**SHERLOCK (softly): And you really thought he was the one, didn’t you? The love of your life?**

**As the woman takes off her glasses and cries harder, Sherlock turns and looks at Molly for a moment, then stands and walks across to her. Keeping his back to the clients, he speaks quietly.**

**SHERLOCK: Stepfather posing as online boyfriend.**

**MOLLY (shocked): What?!**

A similar cry came from several of the viewers.

**SHERLOCK: Breaks it off, breaks her heart. She swears off relationships, stays at home – he still has her wage coming in.**

“Huh. I never would’ve thought of that,” Anderson admitted.

“You would’ve probably been trying to sniff out a murder,” Lestrade said. The others agreed with him.

**He turns to the man and addresses him sternly.**

**SHERLOCK: Mr. Windibank, you have been a complete and utter...**

*****

**JOHN: ...piss pot.**

Lestrade smiled. “Funny how you’re still finishing each other’s sentences, even a whole city apart.”

“Yeah, yeah. So romantic. Will you give it a rest already?” John was exasperated. “It’s just clever editing!”

**He is holding up a small plastic cylinder used for collecting urine samples. He hands it to his latest patient who is sitting facing him.**

**JOHN: It’s nothing to worry about. Just a small infection by the sound of it. Er, Doctor Verner is your usual GP, yes?**

**The man speaks in a rough voice with a thick accent.**

**MR. SZIKORA: Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.**

**John looks startled. The man appears to be in his sixties, has long white hair and a white beard and is wearing very dark glasses and a black knitted hat.**

Frown lines dug into Anderson’s face. If he frowned any more, his face would probably settle into a permanently confused look. “Did he just walk in, or what? You look startled by his accent, but you’re already giving him something for an infection.”

**MR SZIKORA: He looked after me, man and boy.**

**He beckons John closer and talks confidentially.**

**MR SZIKORA: I run a little shop, just on the corner of Church Street.**

**JOHN: Oh, right.**

**MR SZIKORA (picking up a plastic bag from the floor): Er, magazines, DVDs. Brought along a few little beauties that might interest you.**

**Taking a DVD from the bag, he shows it to John.**

**MR SZIKORA: “Tree Worshippers.” Oh, that’s a corker. It’s very saucy.**

**John nods in a bemused way, looking closely at the man as if he is beginning to suspect something. The man gets out a magazine and holds it up.**

**MR SZIKORA: “British Birds.” Same sort of thing.**

**The magazine cover shows two glamorous women in skimpy clothing, and some of the captions around the photograph read, “We’re a real handful,” “Hot British Birds! XXX” and “Knocker Glory.”**

“Is this guy for real?” Sally couldn’t even figure it out. “Who brings those kinds of magazines to their doctor’s office?”

**JOHN: I’m fine, thanks.**

**MR SZIKORA (holding up another DVD and translating its foreign title): “The Holy War.” Sounds a bit dry, I know, but there’s a nun with all these holes in her habit...**

**JOHN: Jesus. Sherlock...**

Lestrade couldn’t help himself. He burst out laughing. “You think _that’s_ Sherlock in disguise? He’s done worse, but you didn’t even recognize him when he was throwing it in your face! How would you see through any other disguise of his?”

John spluttered. “I don’t know! I guess I was just bloody tired that day and expecting Sherlock to come knocking.”

**MR SZIKORA: Huh?**

**JOHN: ...what do you want?**

**MR SZIKORA: Huh?**

**JOHN: Have you come to torment me?**

**MR SZIKORA: What are you talking about?**

**JOHN (impersonating his accent): “What are you talking...?” (He stands up and walks closer.) What, d’you think I’m gonna be fooled by this bloody beard?**

**He tugs at it while the man flails in panic.**

**MR SZIKORA: Are you crazy?!**

**John straightens a little and imitates his flailing hands, mockingly saying, “No, no, no, no!” in the man’s accent, then leans into his face.**

**JOHN: It’s not as good as your French. Not as good as your French. It’s not even a good disguise, Sherlock!**

**He rips off the man’s hat and glasses. The man stares up at him with a terrified look on his face.**

**JOHN: Where’d you get it from? A bloody joke... sh-shop...?**

**Staring at the man with dawning horror, he reaches out and pulls his head forward to confirm that he genuinely is bald on top.**

**JOHN: Oh my God.**

**The man whimpers as John gently puts his glasses back onto his face.**

**JOHN: I am so sorry. Oh my God.**

“What is wrong with you, John? Tormenting a poor old man?” Sally asked, appalled.

John scowled. “You may not have tormented any old men, but you’ve been consistently worse to Sherlock than I was in that lapse!” he accused, pointing a finger in her face. “So you can’t say anything!”

**Mary comes in, having presumably heard the noise. John puts the man’s hat back onto his head.**

**JOHN: Please for... (He looks across to Mary, speaking a little plaintively.) It’s fine.**

**Clearing his throat, he sits down again. Mary goes out and closes the door.**

*****

**Greg Lestrade tears down the police tape sealing a door inside a building.**

**LESTRADE: This one’s got us all baffled.**

**SHERLOCK: Mmm. I don’t doubt it.**

Lestrade frowned. Perhaps he could try figuring this one out before Sherlock, but…he wasn’t delusional. He knew he wouldn’t ever catch up with the other detective.

**Greg opens the door and leads Sherlock and Molly down the stairs into the basement. At the foot of the stairs, a large hole has been knocked through the brickwork of one wall. They go through the hole and Greg switches on the mobile lighting which has been set up in the room. As he switches on more lights, the “skeleton mystery” which Sherlock had been reading earlier is revealed. A white-painted wooden table is at the far end of the room and seated on a chair behind it is a skeleton dressed in an old-fashioned suit. There is a carafe and a glass and what looks like a writing set on the table in front of it. The corpse is holding a syringe in one skeletal hand. Frowning, Sherlock is already zooming in on details of the scene before he walks across the room, lays his pouch of tools on the table and gets to work, examining the corpse in minute detail. Molly stands nearby, her notebook open and pen poised. Sherlock sniffs at the body and tries to decide what he is picking up:**

*****

**PINE?**

**SPRUCE?**

**CEDAR**

**NEW MOTHBALLS**

Anderson was undoubtedly giddy. He loved watching Sherlock at work. Why couldn’t _he_ have been chosen for the assistant position? He would’ve gladly offered up his own theories on the skeleton.

*****

**The writing in his mind turns into mothballs and bounces away. Moving on, he sniffs again:**

*****

**Carbon particulate**

*****

**He sniffs more deeply:**

*****

**Fire Damage**

*****

**The writing burns away. He straightens up and shuts his magnifier.**

**MOLLY: What is it?**

**Sherlock gets out his phone and holds it up high to try and get a signal.**

**MOLLY: You’re on to something, aren’t you?**

**SHERLOCK: Mm, maybe.**

**John’s voice sounds in his head and the words he speaks appear in Sherlock’s mind.**

*****

**SHOW OFF**

*****

**SHERLOCK (in a whisper): Shut up, John.**

Lestrade grinned. “See John? He misses you!”

“He misses my sarcastic comments, you mean?”

“Same thing! He misses having you there to solve crimes with him.”

“Like he missed me those two years pretending he was dead?”

Lestrade sighed. “Come off it, John. He was trying to protect you like he was protecting all of us. Why couldn’t you just forgive him like the rest of us?”

**Greg’s eyes flicker across to him.**

**MOLLY: What?**

**SHERLOCK: Hmm? Nothing.**

**He walks around to the other side of the table and continues his investigations.**

*****

**At the surgery, Mary walks into John’s office wearing her coat and scarf. She goes across to where he is sitting at his desk.**

**MARY (smiling): Hello.**

**JOHN: Mmm.**

**MARY: You sure?**

**JOHN: I’m sure.**

**MARY: Okay. I’m late for Cath. I’ll see you later.**

**She bends down and kisses him, then turns and leaves.**

**JOHN: ’Bye.**

**MARY: ’Bye.**

*****

**CRIME SCENE. Sherlock carefully uses tweezers to lift the lapel of the skeleton’s jacket. Molly still stands some distance away waiting to write anything down. Greg leans close to Sherlock and speaks softly.**

**LESTRADE (glancing towards Molly): This gonna be your new arrangement, is it?**

**SHERLOCK: Just giving it a go.**

**LESTRADE: Right. So, John?**

**SHERLOCK: Not really in the picture anymore.**

**He moves away from the table and turns back to look at the whole picture. Cement dust drifts down from the ceiling as a distant rumbling can be heard.**

**MOLLY: Trains?**

**SHERLOCK: Trains.**

**He drops into a squat and calls up a mental compass showing the orientation of the room. Steepling his fingers in front of his mouth he zooms in on the corpse. Molly walks across to the body and starts to look closely at the bones in its neck. Sherlock stands up and walks over to join her.**

**MOLLY: Male, forty to fifty.**

Anderson looked at her, surprised. “You can tell that by the bones?”

She furrowed her eyebrows at him in return. “Yes. Can’t you? You’re a forensic scientist, after all.”

“Ex-forensic scientist,” Sally said with a light chuckle. “And he usually just takes the samples and sends them in for smarter people to analyze.”

He scowled at her.

**She looks at Sherlock.**

**MOLLY: Ooh, sorry, did you want to be...?**

**SHERLOCK: Er, no, please. Be my guest.**

**John’s voice sounds in his mind again.**

**JOHN (voiceover): You jealous?**

“You’re really in his head, aren’t you?” Molly asked.

John shrugged, looking away.

**His second word appears simultaneously in front of Sherlock’s mind’s eye.**

*****

**JEALOUS?**

*****

**SHERLOCK (angrily, through gritted teeth): Shut up!**

“Bloody hell; that must have been so confusing for you both.” Sally stifled a laugh.

**Molly glances nervously at Greg. Sherlock takes out his magnifier to look more closely at the hand holding the syringe while Molly continues investigating the skeleton.**

**MOLLY: Doesn’t make sense.**

**LESTRADE: What doesn’t?**

**Sherlock gently blows away the dust around the hand and continues blowing towards the edge of the table.**

**MOLLY: This skeleton – it’s...it can’t be any more than...**

**SHERLOCK and MOLLY (simultaneously): ...six months old.**

Lestrade hummed. “New mothballs, new skeleton, old fashioned clothes…” His eyes widened. “This is all staged.” He never would’ve figured it out without seeing Sherlock’s assessment, though.

**Sherlock has found a hidden compartment in the side of the table and he opens it and slides out a book from inside it. He blows the dust from the cover, gives it a sarcastic glance and shows it to Molly. Scrawled across the cover are the words:**

*****

**How I Did It**

**By**

**Jack the Ripper**

*****

**MOLLY: Wow!**

**SHERLOCK: Hmm.**

**He flamboyantly drops the book onto the table. Greg leans forward to peer at the cover.**

**LESTRADE: “How I Did It” by Jack the Ripper?**

**SHERLOCK: Mm-hm.**

**MOLLY: It’s impossible!**

**SHERLOCK: Welcome to my world.**

**Greg grins with delight. As Sherlock leans down to repack his pouch of tools, John’s voice sounds in his head.**

*****

**SMART ARSE**

*****

**Sherlock grimaces, flailing towards his own head.**

**SHERLOCK (quietly, through clenched teeth): Get out.**

**Continuing to repack his pouch, he talks more loudly to Molly and a grinning Greg.**

**SHERLOCK: I won’t insult your intelligence by explaining it to you.**

“That’s a first,” Lestrade said with another laugh. He was grinning from ear to ear. He’d figured it out! Not on the screen, of course, but here, after seeing what Sherlock had found, he’d figure it out!

**LESTRADE: No, please – insult away!**

**Sherlock has already picked up his pouch and is heading for the door, but he stops when his internal John throws in another comment:**

*****

**You forgot to put your collar up**

*****

**Appearing confused and disoriented by this internal commentary, Sherlock turns back to the others.**

**SHERLOCK: The-the-the corpse is-is six months old; it’s dressed in a shoddy Victorian outfit from a museum. It’s been displayed on a dummy for many years in a case facing south-east judging from the fading of the fabric. It was sold off in a fire-damage sale ... (he gets out his phone and shows the screen to Greg) ...a week ago.**

“Huh.” There were a few more details that Lestrade hadn’t picked out, but he’d still known that it was a setup. But why? Had Anderson taken his crazy theories a step further when he found that Sherlock was really alive Was he just trying to lure him out to solve a mystery?

**LESTRADE: So the whole thing was a fake.**

**SHERLOCK: Yes.**

**He turns and heads out of the room.**

**LESTRADE: Looked so promising.**

**SHERLOCK (already out of sight): Facile.**

**MOLLY: Why would someone go to all that trouble?**

Sally crossed her arms. “Probably just Anderson trying to draw his attention. Seems like the kind of stunt he would pull.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Lestrade said. Both yarders looked pointedly at the man.

**SHERLOCK (offscreen): Why indeed, John?**

**Molly looks awkwardly at Greg.**

“He’s probably just not used to me yet,” Molly said.

“Sorry to burst your bubble…but I think he’s just trying to replace John. He doesn’t really want you,” Sally commented.

“You don’t know that?” Molly protested.

“Uh…It’s kind of obvious,” Anderson pointed out.

Molly flushed.

“The real question is: who faked the body?” Lestrade asked.

Everyone rounded on Anderson, who held his hands up in submission. “how am I supposed to know? This is the future! If it _was_ me, I haven’t done it yet!”

Lestrade shrugged. “Fair point, but you know the consequences for something like that? Wasting police time? No matter what I said, they’d never let you back on the force.”

Anderson looked at the floor but didn’t say anything, because deep down, he knew he would do something like that, and he was very capable of it, too.

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	54. 3x1 Part 3 The Empty Hearse

As Anderson was contemplating the mess that his life had spiralled into, the next section continued.

**LATER. Sherlock – with Molly at his side – pushes the doorbell to a flat. Instead of the bell ringing or buzzing, it plays a recording of a London Underground announcement of a male voice saying, “Mind the gap. Mind the gap.” Molly giggles quietly. A young man answers the door and Sherlock immediately holds out the bobble hat towards him.**

**HOWARD: Oh. Thanks for hanging on to it.**

“The hat was _his_?” Anderson questioned, snapping out of his state.

Mycroft glared at Sherlock on the screen. So _that_ was the owner of the hat that Sherlock used to stump him. Deductions raced through his mind, finding nothing of the sort for him to be isolated. In fact, he had a girlfriend and a fine job at the tube station.

**SHERLOCK: No problem.**

**Taking the hat, Howard leads them inside.**

**SHERLOCK: So, what’s this all about, Mr. Shilcott?**

**They go into a room that is mostly taken up by a train set with model Tube trains running round it. On the wall is a photo of Howard, wearing his bobble hat, grinning happily and doing a thumbs-up to the camera while he stands in front of a train which doesn’t seem to be in Britain. The rest of the room is full of all sorts of different train memorabilia.**

John looked at the room with surprise. “That’s a lot of trains,” he observed.

“Yes. Very well done, John. Nice work!” Mycroft clapped his hands together sarcastically.

**HOWARD: My girlfriend’s a big fan of yours.**

**SHERLOCK (chuckling sarcastically): Girlfriend?**

**Howard looks around indignantly, and Molly throws Sherlock a look.**

**SHERLOCK: Sorry. Do go on.**

**HOWARD: I like trains.**

**SHERLOCK: Yyyes.**

“You don’t say,” Sally said with a chortle.

**HOWARD: I work on the Tube, on the District Line, and part of my job is to wipe the security footage after it’s been cleared.**

**He sits down at his computer.**

**HOWARD: I was just whizzing through and, er, I found something a bit bizarre.**

**He turns towards the computer and Sherlock throws a silent and quirky “Ooh!” at Molly, who smiles. Howard pulls up the relevant footage and the others walk to either side of him to look at the screen, which shows the platform of a Tube station. A train is stationary, and its doors are open. There is only one man on the platform. He looks like a businessman and is carrying a briefcase.**

“What’s weird about that?” Sally asked.

“I’m sure we’ll find out.” Lestrade shushed her.

**HOWARD: Now, this was a week ago. The last train on the Friday night, Westminster station, and this man gets into the last car.**

**MOLLY: “Car”?**

**HOWARD: They’re cars, not carriages. It’s a legacy of the early American involvement in the Tube system.**

**Molly turns and throws a look at Sherlock.**

**SHERLOCK: He said he liked trains.**

**MOLLY: Hmm!**

**HOWARD: And the next stop… (he shows the appropriate footage) …St James’s Park station…and…**

**The footage shows the doors of the last car opening – and nobody gets out. Suddenly Sherlock is more interested. The doors close again.**

**HOWARD: I thought you’d like it.**

**He replays the earlier footage.**

**HOWARD: He gets into the last car at Westminster, the only passenger...**

**He switches to the later footage.**

**HOWARD: …and the car is empty at St James’s Park station. Explain that, Mr. Holmes.**

“He’s a ghost! Or a hologram!” Anderson exclaimed excitedly. He continued throwing out ridiculous theories before Lestrade sighed and held his hand up in front of his face.

“Why would anyone out a hologram of a person on a train onto for him to disappear? Especially if the only person who looks at them is this guy?” Sally asked. She raised her eyebrow, skeptical.

Anderson’s eyes widened. “Maybe to draw out Sherlock Holmes!”

“You mean like you?” she countered.

He stuttered, open-mouthed as he frantically fought for words to say. He lost that battle, eventually shutting his mouth.

**MOLLY: Couldn’t he have just jumped off?**

**Sherlock shakes his head. Molly looks away from the video footage and watches him.**

**HOWARD: There’s a safety mechanism that prevents the doors from opening in transit. But there’s something else. The driver of that train hasn’t been to work since. According to his flatmate, he’s on holiday. Came into some money.**

**SHERLOCK (turning to look at Molly): Bought off?**

**Molly has been gazing at him for the last few seconds and now looks startled by his question.**

**MOLLY (blankly): Hmm?**

**Sherlock looks disapprovingly at her for a moment, then turns to Howard. Molly looks embarrassed.**

Molly’s face flushed.

**SHERLOCK: So if the driver of the train was in on it, then the passenger did get off.**

**HOWARD: There’s nowhere he could go. It’s a straight run on the District Line between the two stations. There’s no side tunnels, no maintenance tunnels – nothing on any map. Nothing. The train never stops, and the man vanishes. Good, innit?**

“Right,” Lestrade said, “There would be a delay in the train if they stopped along the way to let him off.”

“Then how did he get off?” Anderson wailed. “If he can’t open the doors when it's in motion and the train never stops, how did he get off?”

**Sherlock closes his eyes, replaying a close-up of the passenger on the platform as his head turned towards the camera.**

**SHERLOCK: I know that face.**

“Where from?” Anderson leaned forward, almost wagging his tail like a hyperactive puppy-dog.

Sally leaned closer to Lestrade, keeping her eyes on the man. “He really changed, hasn’t he?”

“What? From hating Sherlock to worshipping the ground he walks on? Yeah.”

**His eyes snap open, but now he’s in his Mind Palace, calling up footage of trains travelling along Tube lines, racing along the various lines on the Tube map, and generally recalling everything he can about the London Underground. Sometime during the process, he physically relocates to the stairs outside the flat, presumably so that he can concentrate better, but he frowns when he realizes where he is as if he doesn’t remember moving. Shutting his eyes to get back into the zone, he continues his search, mentally walking down a long flight of stairs beside escalators in an Underground station. Briefly, the face of the disappearing man appears in his mind before more images from the Tube network and maps flash though his brain, and then the man’s face appears again.**

“Wow…” Anderson was baffled, eye wide as he stares at the screen in wonder. His Mind Palace kept changing. Never the same twice as he goes in to solve one of his unsolvable mysteries.

*****

**BAKER STREET. John walks towards the front door of 221 and stops a couple of feet away from the doorstep, looking thoughtfully at the door. A man comes around the corner and walks along the road, barging past him and bumping roughly into his shoulder. John turns to look at him as he continues onwards without speaking.**

**JOHN (sarcastically): ’Scuse you.**

**The man glances over his shoulder at him but doesn’t stop. Behind John, another man walks up to him, grabs his left wrist and instantly jabs the needle of a syringe into the right side of his neck. John tries to grab at him but the drug is already starting to take effect and his weakening struggles are in vain. The first man comes back and they both hold him as he starts to fall. They carefully lower him to the ground and he lies there, still vaguely conscious but unable to move.**

Mrs. Hudson yelped in surprise. “John! Oh my!” She threw her hand up to cover her mouth.

Sally scoffed. “Come on, that’s only the…what? Fourth time he’s been kidnapped?” She turned away, whispering under her breath as she began to count on her fingers. “Mycroft, that circus lady, Moriarty, these guys… I think that’s it.”

John glared at her.

*****

**HOWARD’S BUILDING. Molly looks up the stairs and slowly walks up them towards Sherlock as he stands there with his eyes closed. After a moment he opens his eyes but can see only a ticking clock, followed by a journey through a Tube tunnel.**

**SHERLOCK (quick fire, his eyes rapidly flickering back and forth): The journey between those stations usually takes five minutes. That journey took ten minutes – ten minutes to get from Westminster to St James’s Park. (He looks down at Molly.) So I’m going to need maps – lots of maps, older maps, all the maps.**

“So there _was_ a delay. I was wrong then,” Lestrade said quietly.

“What else is new,” Sally murmured, rolling her eyes.

Unfortunately for her, he heard. He turned, frowning, but not overly upset. He was far too used to it. Still, he said, “The man said that the train never stopped. How was I supposed to know that there was still a delay with limited information?”

Sally shrugged.

**MOLLY: Right.**

**SHERLOCK (walking past her and continuing down the stairs): Fancy some chips?**

**MOLLY: What?**

**SHERLOCK: I know a fantastic fish shop just off the Marylebone Road. The owner always gives me extra portions.**

**MOLLY (following him): Did you get him off a murder charge?**

**SHERLOCK: No – I helped him put up some shelves.**

Lestrade couldn’t help the barking laugh that came from his mouth. His earlier disappointment was entirely forgotten.

**She giggles and he smiles briefly.**

**MOLLY: Sherlock?**

**SHERLOCK: Hmm?**

**He stops at the bottom of the stairs and turns back to her.**

**MOLLY: What was today about?**

**SHERLOCK: Saying thank you.**

Molly hissed as she sucked in a breath. What was happening? Sherlock never said thank you, let alone to her. He really had changed over those two years; he’d become a better person, or…maybe he was a good person all along and no one, not even he, knew it.

**MOLLY: For what?**

**SHERLOCK: Everything you did for me.**

**MOLLY: It’s okay. It was my pleasure.**

**She reaches the bottom of the stairs and starts towards the door but turns back as he speaks.**

**SHERLOCK: No, I mean it.**

**MOLLY: I don’t mean ‘pleasure.’ I mean, I didn’t mind. I wanted to.**

**SHERLOCK (stepping closer and speaking intensely but softly): Moriarty slipped up. He made a mistake. Because the one person he thought didn’t matter at all to me was the one person that mattered the most. You made it all possible.**

Molly couldn’t fight the blush that crept up on her, but this time, instead of embarrassment, she was flushed with warmth, with happiness. Sherlock really _did_ care about her!

**He draws in a breath.**

**SHERLOCK: But you can’t do this again, can you?**

**She smiles, and when she speaks her voice is a little choked.**

**MOLLY: I had a lovely day. I’d love to – I just...um... (She looks down.)**

**SHERLOCK (following her gaze): Oh, congratulations, by the way.**

**Molly is wearing a diamond solitaire engagement ring.**

“You’re getting married? And _not_ to Sherlock?” Anderson turned his shocked face to Molly, who was equally as surprised.

**MOLLY: He’s not from work.**

**Sherlock smiles.**

**MOLLY: We met through friends, the old-fashioned way. He’s nice. We... He’s got a dog... We-we go to the pub on weekends, and he... I’ve met his mum and dad and his friends and all his family. I’ve no idea why I’m telling you this.**

**SHERLOCK: I hope you’ll be very happy, Molly Hooper. You deserve it. After all, not all the men you fall for can turn out to be sociopaths!**

“He knew all along that she was in love with him?” Sally was aghast.

“Of course, he did,” John said, raising his eyebrows at her. “He may not understand love but even _he_ could see that clear as day.”

Molly scowled a little as she blushed again, hating the way her face would redden at even the smallest thing. “I wasn’t _that_ obvious…” she murmured.

“Honey, if _Sherlock_ could tell, anyone could tell,” Sally said, rolling her eyes.

**MOLLY: No?**

**SHERLOCK: No.**

**Stepping closer to her, he gives her a beautiful smile, then leans in and kisses her on the cheek. She closes her eyes and keeps them closed as he turns and walks out of the front door. After a moment she turns and looks at his disappearing back.**

Molly froze, stunned in place by a new wave of shock. Finally… _finally_ , he’d kissed her? And she was with someone else? She was tired of waiting for him to come around and _that’s_ when he responded to her feelings?

**MOLLY: Maybe it’s just my type.**

**Outside it’s snowing. Sherlock walks down the path, sighing a little and pulling his coat around him. He turns to the right and walks off down the road. Molly follows down the path, pulling out her gloves and putting them on. She stops at the pavement and watches Sherlock walk away, then turns and walks off in the opposite direction.**

*****

**NIGHT TIME. There’s a full moon in the sky. John slowly starts to regain consciousness. He seems to be surrounded by foliage, and the flickers of moonlight coming through the greenery seem like a flashlight being shone on him. Choking, he tries to move his hands but finds that he can’t. He opens his mouth to cry out, but no sound will come. He tries to raise his head but eventually sinks back down again. There is a bleeding wound on the right side of his head just at his hairline.**

“Oh no! John, where did you end up this time?” Mrs. Hudson fretted.

*****

**Elsewhere, Mary is walking along a street but stops to take out her phone when it beeps a text alert. Taking off her glove to activate the phone, she sees the message:**

*****

**Save souls now!**

**John or James Watson?**

*****

**She flicks to the next screen:**

*****

**Saint or Sinner?**

**James or John?**

**The more is Less?**

*****

**Frowning, she lowers the phone and hurries on.**

“What was that about?” Sally asked.

The others shrugged. “How are we supposed to know,” Anderson asked. “This is the future. Sherlock hasn’t even seen it yet, let along figured it out!”

“I wasn’t asking you, doofus.”

**Sometime later she is at the door of 221. Mrs. Hudson opens the door to her knock.**

**MARY: Oh, Mrs. Hudson.**

**Mrs. Hudson frowns as Mary gently pushes her way in.**

**MARY: Sorry – I-I think someone’s got John – John Watson.**

**Upstairs in 221B’s living room, Sherlock – still in his coat and holding a bag of chips just inside the door – turns at the sound of her voice. Mrs. Hudson follows her.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Hang on! Who are you?**

**MARY (stopping partway up the stairs and turning back to her): Oh, I’m his fiancée.**

**MRS. HUDSON (smiling): Ah!**

“Hold up, hold up,” Anderson said, yet again interrupting the goings-on, “ _That’s_ how she decided to introduce herself? Why is she even at Baker street in the first place? And why would she think that someone has John if she got a weird text with _maybe_ his name in it?”

Sally scowled, cuffing him over the back of the head. “Good thing, though, because Joh’s probably going to die if they don’t do anything!”

**Sherlock is already coming onto the landing as Mary hurries up the stairs.**

**SHERLOCK: Mary? What’s wrong?**

**MARY (taking her phone from her pocket): Someone sent me this. At first, I thought it was just a Bible thing, you know, spam, but it’s not. It’s a skip-code.**

Lestrade’s eyebrows shot up in astonishment. How had she recognized a skip-code? He’d have thought it was just a junk text like she’d said. Just _who_ was this woman?

**Sherlock looks at her closely, then turns his attention to her phone as she shows him the first part of the message:**

*****

**Save souls now!**

**John or James Watson?**

*****

**SHERLOCK: First word, then every third. Save…John…Watson.**

**Mary pulls up the next message:**

*****

**Saint or Sinner?**

**James or John?**

**The more is Less?**

*****

**The unimportant words seem to fade, leaving just the vital ones:**

*****

**Saint**

**James**

**The Less**

*****

**SHERLOCK (urgently): Now!**

**Dropping his chips to the floor, he races down the stairs with Mary following.**

**MARY: Where are we going?**

**SHERLOCK: St James the Less. It’s a church. Twenty minutes by car.**

“Oh, my God,” Sally said. “He’s in the bonfire, isn’t he?”

“What?”

She turned to Anderson like he was an idiot, which he was. “The Guy Fawkes bonfire! It’s November 5! He was surrounded by wood and branches, wasn’t he? And there were voices and flashlights! And he’s at the church! What else could it be?”

“Don’t worry. Sherlock’ll get him out!” Anderson was so sure that he eased John’s heart a little. Just a little. However, when the man started to nervously bounce his leg, that ease shrivelled up and died.

**He pelts out into the street.**

**SHERLOCK: Did you drive here?**

**MARY: Er, yes.**

Lestrade frowned. First, she’d recognized a skip code and now she was lying? Hadn’t she walked? Or was her car just not shown? Why did he have such a strange feeling from her?

**SHERLOCK (pacing about in the middle of the road): It’s too slow. It’s too slow.**

**He is oblivious to the approach of a car, which swerves around him, the driver blaring his horn.**

**MARY (frantically): Sherlock, what are we waiting for?**

**Sherlock turns towards a single oncoming headlight.**

**SHERLOCK: This.**

**He steps directly into the path of the approaching motorcycle and holds up an imperious hand. The driver slams on the brakes and the bike skids to a halt just in time.**

Though he didn’t voice his thoughts, Anderson couldn’t help but wonder how Sherlock knew that a motorcycle would drive down the street just at that moment.

*****

**Shortly afterwards Sherlock and Mary – wearing the helmets of the driver and his pillion passenger – are racing through the streets on the bike. In Sherlock’s mind, he is calculating how long it will take to get to St James the Less Church. Currently, the journey will take 10 minutes. Mary’s phone sounds a text alert and she checks it. It reads:**

*****

**Getting warmer Mr. Holmes**

**You have about ten minutes**

*****

**They drive on.**

**MARY: What does it mean? What are they going to do to him?**

“They’re going to light him on fire!” Anderson bit at his fingers as his whole body buzzed with nervous energy.

“Why are _you_ nervous?” John shot at him. “ _I’m_ the one about to be burned alive!”

**SHERLOCK: I don’t know.**

*****

**Wherever John is, he is struggling to move. The sound of children’s voices can be heard some distance away. He grunts as he frantically strains to escape but he can make no louder noise.**

“He’s definitely in that bonfire…” Sally muttered. As much as she’d hated the detective and his sidekick, John had grown on her. He was strong-willed and she respected that, so she couldn’t help the spark of worry that ignited in her chest for the man.

*****

**On the motorcycle, Mary holds her phone over Sherlock’s shoulder so that he can see the latest message:**

*****

**8 minutes**

**and counting...**

“Who is even sending those texts?” Anderson pondered, still biting at his nails. He quickly switched to tearing out his hair so that he could speak and worry at the same time. As much as he believed that Sherlock was going to save the day, that didn’t mean he couldn’t allow himself to be caught up in the moment.

Lestrade shrugged. He and Mycroft were the only ones who hid their tension well. He considered Anderson’s question. “Who knows? The latest psychopath? Seems like London has an abundance of those, especially when Sherlock’s around,” he suggested.

*****

**Sherlock turns his attention back to the road and accelerates, but shortly afterwards they approach a roadblock. The road ahead is cordoned off with police tape, and two police officers are explaining the situation to stopped cars.**

**SHERLOCK (slamming on the brakes and halting the bike): Damn!**

**He looks to his left and rapidly works out an alternative route which he overlays onto the original route. The original one has an ETA of 8 minutes; the new, more direct route shows an ETA of 5 minutes. Sherlock turns the bike and heads up onto the pavement and into a walkway between two buildings. One of the police officers uselessly chases after him.**

**POLICE OFFICER: Oi! Oi! You can’t go down there!**

**On the other side of the buildings, the path descends down a long flight of steps but Sherlock heads straight down them and turns onto the road at the bottom, which happens to be The Mall. They race onwards towards Buckingham Palace.**

*****

**Elsewhere, a fireworks party is starting in a small park in a square near a church. Children wave their sparklers around, and some people are playing small drums. One little girl, Zoe, gazes at the gigantic bonfire which has been piled up in the middle of the park, made up of broken wooden pallets, furniture, and anything else which has been scavenged. She looks up at the Guy Fawkes guy which has been perched on the top, completely unaware that John is lying on the ground in the middle of the bonfire, out of sight of all the people nearby.**

“I knew it!” Sally hissed to herself, looking not at all happy that she had been right. “I knew it! I knew it!”

**The children gather near, perhaps knowing that it is not long until the fire will be lit. John opens his mouth and tries again to cry out but all he can manage is a faint moan. He thrashes, trying to push himself up and continuing to moan quietly. And now a man approaches the bonfire carrying a flaming brand of wood. The children watch him delightedly. John manages to produce some slightly louder croaks, but they cannot be heard above the excited chatter of the children and the drumming. Smiling cheerfully, the man lowers the brand to the foot of the fire.**

*****

**On the motorcycle, Mary receives a new message:**

*****

**Better hurry**

**things are**

**hotting up here...**

Molly scowled. “Whoever is behind it, he just seems to be having fun, toying with John’s life like that!”

*****

**They continue onwards but their speed is impeded when they cross a bridge and are blocked by a slow-moving lorry.**

*****

**At the park, the man with the brand, trying to light the bonfire without any success, looks around and shakes his head.**

**MAN: No. It’s not gonna work. Bit damp.-**

“Oh, thank God!” Mrs. Hudson clutched at her heart. She didn’t know how much more of this suspense she could take. At least John was safe…

**-I’ll get something to help it along, yeah?**

“Spoke too soon, it seems, Mrs. Hudson,” Mycroft said, turning his nose down at the screen. He wasn’t concerned; John wouldn’t die. Whoever was behind this was having far too much fun to let that happen.

**He walks away. Part of the bonfire is smouldering and the smoke drifts across John, who continues to try and cry out. His voice is getting a little stronger and he manages to let out a couple of louder but wordless cries. Standing nearby, Zoe frowns at the sound, looking in concern at the guy on top of the fire as the noises continue.**

Molly silently wished for the little girl to say something. She heard John! All she had to do was tell someone that he was stuck in the pile!

*****

**On the motorcycle, Mary shows Sherlock the newest message:**

*****

**Stay of execution.**

**you’ve got two**

**more minutes**

*****

**Sherlock checks his mental map, which shows that if he continues by road, their ETA is 3 minutes. However, if he goes in a straight line it will only take 1 minute. He swerves the bike off the road and heads straight down into a pedestrian underpass.**

*****

**At the bonfire, Zoe’s father – the one who tried to light the fire – comes back with a small can of petrol. Zoe turns to him.**

**ZOE (plaintively): He doesn’t like it, Daddy.**

**DAD: Eh?**

**ZOE (pointing up at the guy): Guy Fawkes – he doesn’t like it!**

**DAD (unscrewing the lid of the can): Stay back, Zoe. Back. Now.**

“No!” Anderson cried out. “Listen to her.”

Meanwhile, John was frozen in shock. Well, frozen wasn’t the best choice for now, but he was otherwise stunned into silence and stillness. Was this how he died? Would he never marry the woman he – supposedly – would meet and fall in love with? He could barely entertain the thought. He’d gone through war. Immense horror and carnage, and the way he would die was here, at the bottom of a bonfire, just because Sherlock was too late?

**She stares at him as he starts to splash fuel over the wood of the bonfire. Inside, John’s cries are getting louder.**

*****

**The motorcycle charges on through the underpass.**

**Zoe’s dad continues pouring petrol over the fire.**

**Sherlock forces the bike up a steep flight of steps and out onto the street again. They are finally driving along beside the fence surrounding the park. Mary receives one more text:**

*****

**What a shame**

**Mr. Holmes.**

**John is quite a Guy!**

“It’s so obvious now! Solve it!” Sally never thought she’d live to see the day she was cheering for Sherlock to solve a case, but here she was. She’d solved it before him – that was another thing she’d never thought she’d experience. Then again, he’d only just gotten back, and she couldn’t see Sherlock participating in a holiday such as Guy Fawkes Night, nor had he seen John stuck at the bottom of the pile as they all had. Still, it felt good to be faster than that aggravating man for once. (Just so long as he hurried up and saved John!)

*****

**She holds the phone over Sherlock’s shoulder to show him.**

**MARY: What does it mean?**

**Smiling, Zoe’s dad takes his flaming brand to the fire and tosses it onto the petrol-soaked wood. Sherlock’s head whips around as the bonfire begins to blaze and all the onlookers cheer.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh my God.**

**He accelerates around the square towards the only gap in the fence surrounding the park. The onlookers continue to celebrate the ignition of the fire. John’s voice finally comes to him and he yells as loudly as he can.**

**JOHN: Help!**

**Zoe screams, and now others can hear John’s voice and react with horror. Her father runs to hold her back and to comfort her.**

Anderson reached forward with both hands as if to strangle the man on the screen. “He should’ve listened to her!”

**Sherlock races the bike into the park and hurls himself off.**

**SHERLOCK (to Mary): Jump off!**

**She quickly steps off as he drops the bike onto its side. The fire is really taking hold now, and John wails as the heat increases. Throwing off his helmet, Sherlock runs towards the fire, shoving people out of his way.**

**SHERLOCK: Move! Move! Move! Move! Move!**

Everyone watched, yet again with bated breath as Sherlock dashed forward to save his friend and Mary her future husband. John especially found that he couldn’t breathe, like the smoke from the bonfire had already invaded his lungs, pluming within his chest.

**He reaches the front of the crowd and races on towards the bonfire.**

**SHERLOCK: John!**

**MARY (running behind him): John! Get out, John!**

**Sherlock crouches down, peering through the flames and trying to see where John is while throwing some of the wood aside. He and Mary continue to cry John’s name and he hears them.**

**JOHN: Help!**

**Now Sherlock has a location and he plunges his arms into the inferno, throwing pieces of the bonfire aside and creating a path into it. At last, he is able to reach in and he grabs John’s arms and hauls him out, pulling him across the ground to safety before rolling him over onto his back. John lies there, looking extremely dazed as Sherlock looms over him.**

Anderson’s eyes glittered with awe. Now that, _that_ was friendship!

**SHERLOCK: John? John!**

**He gently pats John’s face.**

**MARY (covering her mouth and crying): John.**

**SHERLOCK (softly): Hey, John.**

**John gazes up at them blankly and their faces fade out for a moment. He blinks as if trying to force his vision to work.**

Finally, everyone was able to let out a breath. Anderson was the loudest, and his chest was so tight with tension that he imitated a leaky balloon, squeaking the whole way through his sigh.

John didn’t even care. He could finally feel his fingers and toes again.

*****

**221B. DAY TIME. Wearing a suit but without the usual dressing gown over it, Sherlock sits in his armchair with his eyes closed, sighing quietly and occasionally drumming his fingers on the arms of the chair. A grey-haired couple is sitting on the sofa and the woman appears to have been talking for some time.**

**WOMAN: ...which wasn’t the way I’d put it at all. Silly woman. Anyway, it was then that I first noticed it was missing. I said, “Have you checked down the back of the sofa?”**

**Sherlock screws his face up, then tilts his head forward a little, almost nodding off to sleep until his head jerks back up again. He steeples his fingers in front of his face as the woman looks round at her husband.**

“Who the hell are these people and why hasn’t he kicked them out yet?” Sally demanded.

Mycroft scowled at her, levelling his steely look. “Choose your next words wisely,” he advised with ice in his tone.

“I’m just saying that they don’t seem to be the sort he’d let go on for hours! What’s wrong with that?”

Lestrade’s eyes widened in realization as Mycroft rolled his eyes, still looking quite aggravated by Sally’s comment. He had an inkling of who those people were but decided to wait in silence to see if his hypothesis was correct before he said anything.

**WOMAN: He’s always losing things down the back of the sofa, aren’t you, dear?**

**MAN: ’Fraid so.**

**Sherlock glares towards the kitchen.**

**WOMAN: Keys, small change, sweeties. Especially his glasses.**

**MAN: Glasses.**

“Donovan kind of has a point here,” Anderson said. “They don’t seem the sort that Sherlock would entertain for as long as they seem to have been there.”

“Perhaps he’s just in a good mood because John _didn’t_ die?” Molly countered.

Anderson wrinkled his nose. “Still, they’re so… _ordinary_!”

Mycroft’s glare moved to him, but he stayed silent, choosing to loath the man from the shadows of the darkened miniature theatre.

**WOMAN: Blooming things. I said, “Why don’t you get a chain – wear ’em round your neck?” And he says, “What – like Larry Grayson?”**

**MAN (almost simultaneously): Larry Grayson.**

**Sherlock rises quickly to his feet, buttoning his jacket as he walks towards the couple.**

**SHERLOCK: So did you find it eventually, your lottery ticket?**

**He steps onto the coffee table and then onto the sofa between the couple. The woman leans to the side to get out of his way, and the man stares up at him as he starts idly flicking through the paperwork stuck to the wall.**

**WOMAN: Well, yes, thank goodness. We caught the coach on time after all. We managed to see, er, St Paul’s, the Tower ... but they weren’t letting anyone into Parliament.**

“If they found it, why are they even there?” Sally just couldn’t fathom who the two strangers were.

This only further cemented Lestrade’s own theory – but he wasn’t Anderson and wouldn’t go spouting nonsense until he had all the facts.

**Sherlock frowns and looks down at her.**

**WOMAN: Some big debate going on.**

**The living room door opens and John walks in. Sherlock looks around at him in surprise.**

**SHERLOCK: John!**

**JOHN: Sorry – you’re busy.**

**SHERLOCK (stepping off the sofa and reaching down to pull the woman to her feet): Er, no-no-no, they were just leaving.**

**WOMAN: Oh, were we?**

**SHERLOCK: Yes.**

**JOHN: No, no, if you’ve got a case...**

**SHERLOCK: No, not a case, no-no-no. (To the woman) Go. ’Bye.**

“They’re not a case?” Anderson’s eyes went wide. He immediately started muttering to himself.

Meanwhile, Lestrade leaned toward Mycroft. “Are they your parents?”

“What makes you say that?” Mycroft shot back.

“They’re sitting there telling Sherlock about their trip, menial things, and he’s just sitting there listening to them – as much as Sherlock listens, that is.” It all made sense in Lestrade’s head, and it didn’t sound any less convincing out loud, so he barrelled ahead. “And, well, he said they weren’t a case. Now John shows up and he’s trying to shoo them away.”

Mycroft didn’t reply. He only let a sour smile grace his lips.

**WOMAN: Yeah, well, we’re here ’til Saturday, remember.**

**SHERLOCK: Yes, great, wonderful. Just get out.**

**He herds the couple towards the door.**

**WOMAN: Well, give us a ring.**

**SHERLOCK: Very nice, yes, good. Get out.**

**Bundling them onto the landing, he tries to close the door, but the woman turns and sticks her heavy shoe into the doorway to stop the door from shutting. Sherlock pulls the door open a little, staring down at her foot.**

**WOMAN (quietly): I can’t tell you how glad we are, Sherlock. All that time people thinking the worst of you.**

**Sherlock glances back at John, who has walked over to the window and is deliberately keeping his back to the others.**

**WOMAN: We’re just so pleased it’s all over.**

**Grimacing, Sherlock tries to slam the door on her foot to make her remove it. She doesn’t budge.**

**MAN: Ring up more often, won’t you?**

**SHERLOCK (hurriedly): Mm-hm.**

**MAN: She worries.**

**WOMAN: Promise?**

**Again Sherlock glances around towards John as if to ascertain that he can’t hear him, then he leans close to the woman.**

**SHERLOCK (quietly): Promise.**

**Smiling, she reaches up to stroke his cheek.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, for God...**

**He shoves the door closed and lets out a deep sigh before turning to John.**

“They’d probably get along with Mrs. Hudson,” Sally muttered.

“What makes you say that?” Anderson wondered.

“Well, they’re obviously his parents. They’d all have a fine time embarrassing him.”

Anderson furrowed his eyebrows. “Are you sure?”

**SHERLOCK: Sorry about that.**

**JOHN: No, it’s fine. Clients?**

**SHERLOCK (hesitating briefly): ...Just my parents.**

“I did _not_ see that coming!” Anderson exclaimed.

Sally couldn’t help it; she just let her head drop into her hands. “How dense could you be?” she groaned. Her voice was muffled by her hands.

**JOHN: Your parents?**

**SHERLOCK: In town for a few days.**

**JOHN: Your parents?**

**SHERLOCK: Mycroft promised to take them to a matinee of “Les Mis.” Tried to talk me into doing it.**

**JOHN: Those were your parents?**

**He goes to the window to look out.**

**SHERLOCK: Yes.**

**JOHN: Well… (He chuckles briefly.) That is not what I…**

**He turns to look at Sherlock, then looks out of the window again.**

**SHERLOCK: What?**

**JOHN: I-I mean they’re just...so...**

“John,” Mrs. Hudson chided, “You’d better be careful what you say about your boyfriend’s parents.”

“Mrs. Hudson, what will it take for you to believe that Sherlock is _not_ my boyfriend? Do I _physically_ have to get married in front of you before you realize it?”

“I take it that first meeting the parents didn’t go so well…” Sally muttered to Lestrade.

“Better than most first meetings usually go,” he responded.

**He looks at Sherlock who directs a hard gaze at him, narrowing his eyes.**

**JOHN: …ordinary.**

“See? John agrees with me!” Anderson protested.

Mycroft’s glare did not relent, it only intensified as he then turned it on John as well.

**He smiles. Sherlock tuts disparagingly.**

**SHERLOCK: It’s a cross I have to bear.**

**John chuckles then slowly takes a few steps across the room before turning back.**

**JOHN: Did they know, too?**

**Sherlock won’t meet his eyes.**

**SHERLOCK: Hmm?**

**JOHN: That you spent the last two years playing hide and seek.**

**Sherlock picks an imaginary piece of fluff off the keyboard of his laptop which is open on the dining table.**

**SHERLOCK: Maybe.**

**JOHN: Ah! So that’s why they weren’t at the funeral.**

“They weren’t even at his funeral?” Anderson asked despairingly.

“No wonder John didn’t know them,” Sally said under her breath. “Then again, I thought they were just embarrassed by him.”

Time stopped. Finally, Sally noticed that the video had stopped playing and everyone had turned to stare at her with fury in their eyes, even the kind-hearted Molly, gentle old Mrs. Hudson, and crazy-obsessed Anderson.

“Say. That. Again.” Mycroft’s voice was positively vibrating from rage.

“That is _not_ okay, Donovan.” Lestrade’s voice was stern. “I thought you were better than this.”

“What? But I—”

“Get out.”

Sally quickly scurried out of the room via the door that appeared for her. Even she knew not to argue with _that_ tone of voice from the elder Holmes brother.

 _“Sorry about all that, folks!”_ The words had reappeared. _“Sally Donovan will no longer be joining us for this viewing. I thought I could fix her with watching the truth play out, but she is too far gone so I won’t burden you with her presence any longer. Thank you. Please keep watching.”_

**SHERLOCK (defensively): Sorry. Sorry again.**

**JOHN (cynically): Mm.**

**He slowly steps towards the door. Sherlock watches him for a moment, then lowers his head.**

**SHERLOCK (softly): Sorry.**

**Drawing in a deep breath, John meets his eyes for a second and then looks down, breathing out slowly.**

**SHERLOCK: See you’ve shaved it off, then.**

**JOHN: Yeah. Wasn’t working for me.**

**SHERLOCK: Mm, I’m glad.**

**JOHN: What, you didn’t like it?**

**SHERLOCK (smiling): No. I prefer my doctors clean-shaven.**

Anderson was giddy but didn’t share it, in fear of being kicked out as well. Maybe he should dial it back a bit. He wasn’t sure how much more they would tolerate from him.

**JOHN: That’s not a sentence you hear every day!**

**He has been slowly walking across the room again and is now in front of his old chair. He sits down in it, grunting a little. There are healing cuts and gashes on the side of his head where it was scratched by the foliage while he was thrashing about under the bonfire.**

**SHERLOCK: How are you feeling?**

**JOHN: Yeah, not bad. Bit…smoked.**

“Well, thankfully you weren’t in there for long,” Molly said.

“I’d have preferred to not be in there at all,” John retorted.

“Yes. Yes, of course,

**SHERLOCK: Right.**

**John looks at him seriously.**

**JOHN: Last night – who did that? And why did they target me?**

**SHERLOCK: I don’t know.**

**JOHN: Is it someone trying to get to you through me? Is it something to do with this terrorist thing you talked about?**

**SHERLOCK: I don’t know. I can’t see the pattern. It’s too nebulous.**

**He walks towards his wall of information.**

**SHERLOCK: Why would an agent give his life to tell us something incredibly insignificant? That’s what’s strange.**

**JOHN: “Give his life”?**

**SHERLOCK: According to Mycroft. There’s an underground network planning an attack on London – that’s all we know.**

“That _is_ pretty insignificant, if you ask me,” Lestrade agreed.

**He looks down and frowns as an apparently random memory comes to him of the dust trickling down from the ceiling in the ‘Jack the Ripper’ room. He turns and gestures to the paperwork on the wall.**

**SHERLOCK: These are my rats, John.**

**JOHN: Rats?**

**SHERLOCK: My markers: agents, low-lifes, people who might find themselves arrested or their diplomatic immunity suddenly rescinded. If one of them starts acting suspiciously, we know something’s up. Five of them are behaving perfectly normally, but the sixth...**

**He points to the relevant photograph.**

**JOHN (pointing to that photo): I know him, don’t I?**

**If we hadn’t already realized it, the photograph is of the man who got into the disappearing Tube car.**

**SHERLOCK: Lord Moran, peer of the realm, Minister for Overseas Development. Pillar of the establishment.**

**JOHN: Yes!**

**SHERLOCK: He’s been working for North Korea since 1996.**

**JOHN: What?**

“What?” Anderson blurted. If _he’d_ said something like that, no one would believe him, but coming from Sherlock, he couldn’t help but take it as gospel.

**SHERLOCK: He’s the Big Rat. Rat Number One. And he’s just done something very suspicious indeed.**

*****

**Later, Sherlock is showing Howard’s footage of the mysterious Tube train disappearance to John, who has taken off his coat and is sitting at the dining table.**

**JOHN (looking at the screen): Yeah, that’s…odd. There’s nowhere he could have got off?**

**SHERLOCK: Not according to the maps.**

**JOHN: Mm.**

**SHERLOCK: There’s something – something, something I’m missing, something staring me in the face.**

**He turns to the wall again but then his phone beeps. He takes it out of his pocket.**

**JOHN (sitting down in front of the computer): Any idea who they are – this underground network?**

**Sherlock looks at a sequence of photos taken of Lord Moran walking along a road next to the Houses of Parliament. The sequence seems to indicate that he has just come up from Westminster Tube station.**

**JOHN (looking at the computer screen): Intelligence must have a-a list of the most obvious ones.**

**SHERLOCK: Our rat’s just come out of his den.**

**JOHN: Al-Qaeda; the IRA have been getting restless again – maybe they’re gonna make an appearance...**

**SHERLOCK (triumphantly): Yes, yes, yes, yes, YES! I’ve been an idiot – a blind idiot!**

“Why is he happy about that?” Anderson asked. He was getting a little worried.

“Because he’s just figured it out, meaning he’s no longer blind,” molly fired back.

**JOHN: What?**

**SHERLOCK (pacing across the room): Oh, that’s good. That could be brilliant.**

**JOHN: What are you on about?**

**SHERLOCK: Mycroft’s intelligence – it’s not nebulous at all. It’s specific – incredibly specific.**

**JOHN (firmly): What do you mean?**

**SHERLOCK: Not an underground network, John. It’s an Underground network.**

“Well, that just cleared everything right up.” Mrs. Hudson clapped her hands, though the flat expression on her face didn’t match the frivolity of the movement.

**JOHN: Right... What?**

**SHERLOCK: Sometimes a deception is so audacious, so outrageous that you can’t see it even when it’s staring you in the face.**

**He leans over John’s shoulder to replay the Tube footage of the lone passenger – Lord Moran – getting into the train at Westminster.**

**SHERLOCK: Look – seven carriages leave Westminster ... (the footage switches to show the next station) …but only six carriages arrive at St James’s Park.**

How had they not seen that before? Anderson scurried forward to further inspect the scene. He’d completely missed that! (Like with most things, really…)

**JOHN: But that’s…I…it’s-it’s impossible.**

**SHERLOCK: Moran didn’t disappear – the entire Tube compartment did. The driver must have diverted the train and then detached the last carriage.**

**JOHN: Detached it where?! You said there was nothing between those stations.**

**SHERLOCK: Not on the maps, but once you eliminate all the other factors, the only thing remaining must be the truth. (He points at the screen.) That carriage vanished, so it must be somewhere.**

**JOHN: But why, though? Why detach it in the first place?**

**SHERLOCK (pacing): It vanishes between St James’s Park and Westminster. Lord Moran vanishes. You’re kidnapped and nearly burned to death at a fireworks par...**

**He stops. He’s got it.**

**SHERLOCK (turning to John): What’s the date, John – today’s date?**

**JOHN: Hmm? November the ... My God.**

**Sherlock looks at the information wall and walks slowly towards it.**

**SHERLOCK: Lord Moran – he’s a peer of the realm. Normally he’d sit in the House. Tonight there’s an all-night sitting to vote on the new anti-terrorism Bill.**

“That’s…pretty important,” John said.

**He stops in front of the sofa and smiles.**

**SHERLOCK: But he won’t be there. Not tonight. (He turns to look down at John.) Not the fifth of November.**

**JOHN: “Remember, remember.”**

**SHERLOCK: “Gunpowder treason and plot.”**

*****

**Shortly afterwards Howard Shilcott – sitting in his living room and wearing his bobble hat – is Skypeing with the boys on the laptop while Sherlock and John frantically search through maps and papers on the kitchen table at 221B.**

**HOWARD: There’s nothing down there, Mr. Holmes, I told you. No sidings, no ghost stations.**

**SHERLOCK (turning the laptop around so that John can see the screen): There has to be. Check again.**

**Howard leans offscreen. John is looking through a book.**

**JOHN: Look – this whole area is a big mess of old and new stuff. Charing Cross is made up of bits of older stations like Trafalgar Square, Strand...**

**SHERLOCK: No, it’s none of those. We’ve accounted for those.**

Even Mycroft was curious at this point. As he wasn’t a field man, he didn’t have all the facts, nor could he read it from the mess of confusion they were caught up in. Still, he trusted his little brother to get to the bottom of it.

**He looks closer at an old map.**

**SHERLOCK: St. Margaret’s Street, Bridge Street, Sumatra Road, Parliament Street…**

**HOWARD (taking the pom-pom that he’s been chewing out of his mouth): Hang on, hang on. Sumatra Road. You mentioned Sumatra Road, Mr. Holmes. (He leans offscreen.) There is something. I knew it rang a bell. (Muttering) Where is it? (He comes back into view.) There was a station down there.**

**JOHN: Well, why isn’t it on the maps?**

**HOWARD: ’Cause it was closed before it ever opened.**

**JOHN: What?**

**HOWARD (holding up a book to the camera to show the relevant page): They built the platforms, even the staircases, but it all got tied up in legal disputes, so they never built the station on the surface.**

“Handy to have him there, isn’t it?” Molly asked lightly. A brief, yet melancholy smile lit up her face.

**Grinning, he points to the appropriate spot on the page. Sherlock has been slowly straightening up while Howard spoke.**

**SHERLOCK: It’s right underneath the Palace of Westminster.**

**JOHN: And so what’s down there? A bomb?**

**Sherlock walks away.**

**JOHN: Oh...**

**He hurries after him, grabbing his coat as he goes.**

“Oh, my God,” John murmured.

“Good thing you’ve figured it out, then,” Anderson said.

*****

**NEWSREADER (on the television): With many commentators saying the vote on the terrorism Bill will be too close to call, MPs are now making their way into the Chamber for what the government is calling the most important vote of this parliament. Over now to our…**

**In a hotel room, Lord Moran is lying fully dressed on the bed watching the TV. He points the remote control at the television and changes to a different channel.**

Molly was infuriated. “He’d going to blow up Parliament and he doesn’t even care!”

**MALE VOICE (on the TV): What freedoms exactly are we protecting if we start spying on our own people? This is an Orwellian measure on a scale unprecedented…**

*****

**Sherlock and John walk briskly along the road near the Houses of Parliament and head to the stairs leading down into Westminster station. They walk across the concourse, past the fangirls, through the ticket barriers and along the corridors.**

Mrs. Hudson was a bit giddy. “Ah! My boys, back together again!”

“Mrs. H, let’s just focus on the bomb that’s about to blow up Parliament?”

**JOHN: So it’s a bomb, then? A Tube carriage is carrying a bomb.**

**SHERLOCK: Must be.**

**JOHN: Right.**

**Taking off his glove, he gets his phone from his pocket.**

**SHERLOCK: What are you doing?**

**JOHN: Calling the police.**

“If you were just going to do that, why didn’t you call before you got _to the station_?” Anderson questioned, turning to the ex-army doctor.

“I dunno! This is the future, remember?”

**SHERLOCK: What? No!**

**JOHN: Sherlock, this isn’t a game. They need to evacuate Parliament.**

**SHERLOCK: They’ll get in the way. They always do. This is cleaner, more efficient.**

**Stopping at a locked maintenance entrance, he reaches into his coat, takes out a crowbar and starts to force the gate open.**

**JOHN: And illegal.**

**SHERLOCK: A bit.**

“Sherlock!” Lestrade scolded, though he knew it wouldn’t do anything. His tone was playful at best.

**The gate opens and the boys go inside. Sherlock pulls the gate closed behind them and they take out flashlights and start to walk down into the maintenance tunnels. A couple of paces behind Sherlock, John checks his phone, which reads, “NO SERVICE”. Sherlock raises his head as if sensing what John’s doing.**

**SHERLOCK (not even looking): What are you doing?**

**JOHN (sighing): Coming.**

**He puts his phone away. They continue onwards for a long time, walking along narrow tunnels and walkways and climbing down steep metal ladders. Your transcriber sits back and flexes her aching fingers for a few blissful moments, secure in the knowledge that there’s no need to transcribe this bit in detail. At long last, they walk onto the platform of Sumatra Road station. Sherlock shines his torch along the length of the track but there is no sign of a train.**

**SHERLOCK: I don’t understand.**

**JOHN: Well, that’s a first!**

Lestrade and John both laughed at his sarcastic retort.

**SHERLOCK: There’s nowhere else it could be.**

**He turns to face the track and brings his hands up to either side of his head, screwing his eyes shut and concentrating. In his mind, he finds himself sitting on a seat inside the missing Tube car/carriage. He is the only passenger. At the far end, smoke comes under the bottom of the cab door and pours towards him. He turns his head to look and a fireball ignites behind the smoke and then races along the carriage, engulfing Sherlock’s position and continuing onwards.**

**Sherlock’s mental image of himself relocates to the tunnel about a hundred yards away from the front of the carriage. The inferno billows out of the carriage towards him but just before it reaches him it is sucked up a large open vent in the tunnel’s roof.**

**At Ground level above the Tube line, heated gas shimmers as it is forced through various air vents inside the Houses of Parliament. Outside, the perspective shifts to the opposite side of the River Thames…and the entire Palace of Westminster goes up in a massive explosion.**

Everyone flinched, even though they knew it was all a scenario playing within Sherlock’s head. Seeing Parliament exploding like that wasn’t easy to watch.

**Sherlock’s eyes snap open.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh!**

**Turning to the left, he runs towards the end of the platform.**

**JOHN (chasing after him): What?**

**Sherlock carefully jumps off the end of the platform onto the tracks.**

**JOHN: Hang on. Sherlock?**

**SHERLOCK (turning back): What?**

**JOHN: That’s… Isn’t it live?**

**SHERLOCK (setting off along the tracks): Perfectly safe as long as we avoid touching the rails.**

**JOHN: ’Course, yeah! Avoid the rails. Great!**

**He jumps down onto the tracks.**

“And what will you do when a train comes?” Anderson demanded.

“Hope that one doesn’t?” John had no other answer but this one.

**SHERLOCK: This way.**

**JOHN: You sure?**

**SHERLOCK: Sure.**

**They don’t have to walk far before the missing carriage is revealed partway around a gentle bend.**

**JOHN: Ah. Look at that.**

**They continue on, then Sherlock looks up and sees the large open vent which he just saw in his mind. He shines his flashlight into it.**

**SHERLOCK: John.**

**JOHN: Hmm?**

**They both stop and shine their torches upwards, realizing that there are several small explosive devices attached to the sides of the vent.**

**JOHN: Demolition charges.**

**They continue towards the carriage, John ducking down and shining his light underneath and around it as they approach. He blows out a long breath as they get close and again, he squats down to check the underside while Sherlock looks along the side. Sherlock opens the door to the driver’s cab—**

“John?” Anderson whispered. “What s the point of you pointing your flashlight directly at Sherlock’s back?”

“What?”

“There was absolutely no point at all.”

John looked away from the man, entirely confused as to what he was going on about.

**—and they climb in and then go carefully through the opposite door into the carriage itself. Slowly they work their way along it, looking at every seat, every corner, shining their torches along the ceiling and the floor. At the second set of side doors, Sherlock slows down, paying particular attention to something. John progresses on to the very end.**

**JOHN: It’s empty. There’s nothing.**

**Unfortunately, he’s wrong. Sherlock has already spotted a pair of intertwined black and red cables strung along the wall and down to one of the seatbacks.**

**SHERLOCK: Isn’t there?**

**John turns back and points his torch where Sherlock is gently lifting the cushion, bending low to shine his light underneath. Sherlock lifts his head and looks over at him.**

**SHERLOCK: This is the bomb.**

**JOHN: What?**

**Sherlock stands up and lifts the cushion all the way up. The cavity underneath is full of wired-up explosives.**

**SHERLOCK: It’s not carrying explosives. The whole compartment is the bomb.**

**He and John work their way along the carriage, lifting other cushions at random. Each one has an identical explosive device under it.**

Molly paled exponentially. “That is a lot of C4…” she murmured. Panic lashed through her, tangoing with the worry already twirling in her chest.

*****

**In his hotel room, Moran opens a briefcase and lifts the lid. Inside is what is clearly a detonator – it has a small screen, a number pad, a slot for a key, and a detonation button which, disappointingly, is neither excessively big nor painted red. A couple of keys lie beside the device.**

*****

**While John continues lifting seat cushions, Sherlock looks around the carriage and then takes a few steps along the aisle before realizing that a floor panel is loose. As John looks down at the latest batch of explosives, Sherlock takes off his gloves and bends to the panel, forcing his fingers into the gap and lifting it. Underneath is what can only be described as the ‘mother bomb’ – a device massively larger than the ones under the cushions. While John takes several deep nervous breaths, Sherlock props the panel up against the wall of the train. They both look down at the massive device, then John looks up at Sherlock.**

**JOHN: We need bomb disposal.**

“That’s why you should call the police, John,” Lestrade said with a sigh. “You _knew_ there was a bomb, so why wouldn’t you call the police to take care of it right away?”

“I dunno? I guess I just assumed Sherlock would know how to defuse a bomb, which, turns out, is one of the _few things_ he _doesn’t_ know how to do!”

Mycroft frowned. “My brother knows how to defuse a bomb,” he muttered so quietly that no one noticed.

**SHERLOCK: There may not be time for that now.**

**JOHN: So what do we do?**

**SHERLOCK (after a brief pause): I have no idea.**

**JOHN (sternly): Well, think of something.**

**SHERLOCK: Why d’you think I know what to do?**

**JOHN: Because you’re Sherlock Holmes. You’re as clever as it gets.**

**SHERLOCK: Doesn’t mean I know how to defuse a giant bomb. What about you?**

“Why the hell _wouldn’t_ he know how to defuse a bomb when he fills his head with over _fifty_ different types of tobacco ash?” Anderson shrieked.

John was panicking yet again. First, he’d almost burned to death, now he was going to die in an explosion because he’d followed Sherlock _bloody_ Holmes down a train tunnel, and Sherlock _bloody_ Holmes didn’t know how to defuse a _bloody_ bomb!

**JOHN: I wasn’t in bomb disposal. I’m a bloody doctor.**

**SHERLOCK (angrily pointing his torch at him): And a soldier, as you keep reminding us all.**

**John looks down at the countdown clock currently frozen at 2:30.**

**JOHN: Can’t-can’t we rip the timer off, or something?**

**SHERLOCK: That would set it off.**

**JOHN: You see? You know things.**

**Sherlock turns away, sighing.**

*****

**In his room, Moran types the code 051113 onto the number pad. He inserts one of the keys into its slot and turns it. The device beeps. He releases the key, then reaches to the Not Big Red Button and presses it.**

They all took a collective inhalation, when suddenly, the screen went dark, signalling that that was the end of the segment they were watching.

_“Sorry to cut you all off short, but I’m weak for cliff-hangers!”_

“No! Why?” Anderson wailed. He had half a mind to storm up there and smash in the screen of the television, but he feared that he would be sent back just like Donovan, and then he’d _never_ find out what happened.

_“Don’t worry; we’ll continue really soon. Now, I was wondering if you think Donovan deserves to be back, because I think she’d been in her time out long enough, yeah?”_

Anderson groaned. “As much as I don’t like it, things are a bit more interesting with her around.”

Lestrade shrugged. “Let’s just hope that she doesn’t make any more of her insensitive _comments_.”

“Indeed.” Mycroft drew out the word like it was a dirty rag. Utter disdain was clear in his tone.

Suddenly, Sally poofed back into the room, looking frazzled, and Anderson reluctantly caught her up on what happened since she’d left. She just nodded along nervously, but none dared ask her where she’d been kept while they watched.

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	55. 3x1 Part 4 The Empty Hearse

As soon as Anderson had finished explaining what went on while Sally was gone, more words appeared on the screen. _“Welcome back, Sally! I sincerely hope that you’ve learned your lesson. Wouldn’t want to send you away again. It would really disappoint me, especially since this is the last part of this case.”_

“How many more cases are there?” John asked.

It took a few seconds before he was met with his answer. _“I refuse to divulge that information as it might spoil the ending of this case.”_

“How could the remaining number of cases _possibly_ spoil anything?” Anderson demanded, but the screen didn’t show anything more as it began to play yet again.

**In the Tube carriage, all the lights come on and the countdown clock on the mother bomb begins to tick down. The boys look around in shock, and John groans.**

**SHERLOCK: Er…**

**JOHN (breathing fast): My God!**

**Sherlock paces away from him.**

**SHERLOCK: Er…**

**JOHN: Why didn’t you call the police?**

**SHERLOCK: Please just…**

**JOHN (furiously): Why do you never call the police?**

John was getting immensely riled up. “When this actually happens, I’m calling the police, whether Sherlock says I shouldn’t or not. God! I should’ve never listened to him! Him and all his stupid ideas! His _ego_ is going to get us killed one of these days!” He waved his hands through the air violently, only to be stopped by Lestrade.

“Sherlock is not stupid,” Lestrade reminded him. “You probably don’t realize it because of the panic the bomb has set you in, but Sherlock went in there knowing there was a bomb. Why would he not call the police if he didn’t know how to stop it? Pride? He may have an ego bigger than the city of London, but I doubt he’d make himself a dead man to suit it.”

John took several deep, calming breaths. His army brain, once realizing that he wasn’t on the battlefield nor in that train car, clicked out of survival mode. He nodded jerkily. “You’re right. You’re right. Sherlock wouldn’t be that stupid. And…and he’s calm, too. He’s pacing, but he’s not panicking like I am.” He let his eyes wander over the screen, taking in the look in Sherlock’s eyes. It wasn’t the look of someone about to die from a bomb, sociopath or not.

**SHERLOCK: Well, it’s no use now.**

*****

**2:15**

*****

**JOHN (angrily): So you can’t switch the bomb off. You can’t switch the bomb off and you didn’t call the police.**

**He turns away for a moment, then turns back again. Sherlock looks at him.**

**SHERLOCK: Go, John. (He points towards the driver’s cab.) Go now.**

**JOHN: There’s no point now, is there, because there’s not enough time to get away; and if we don’t do this… (he gestures down to the mother bomb) …other people will die!**

*****

**1:57**

*****

**He looks down at the clock for a moment, then points at Sherlock.**

**JOHN: Mind Palace.**

**SHERLOCK: Hmm?**

**JOHN: Use your Mind Palace.**

**SHERLOCK: How will that help?**

**JOHN: You’ve salted away every fact under the sun!**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, and you think I’ve just got “How to Defuse a Bomb” tucked away in there somewhere?**

**JOHN: Yes!**

**Sherlock thinks about it for a second.**

**SHERLOCK: Maybe.**

**He brings his fingers up to the sides of his face and screws his eyes shut.**

**JOHN (intensely): Think.**

**Sherlock lifts his head a little, still concentrating.**

**JOHN (softly): Think. Please think.**

**Sherlock groans.**

**JOHN: Think!**

**Sherlock’s hands come away from his face and flail, while his eyes remain closed and he continues to make groaning noises. John closes his eyes, shaking his head as the noises get louder and finally, Sherlock lets out a cry and opens his eyes. He breathes heavily for a moment, then he lowers his hands and looks at John with a blank but apologetic look on his face. John stares at him in disbelief.**

Anderson squinted. “Is he really even in there, or is he just pretending?”

“What makes you say that?” Sally asked, though her voice was much more subdued than usual.

Anderson frowned. “I dunno. Something just feels different. Usually, we get to see what he’s thinking, but this part just seems more focused on John. Wouldn’t there be a reason for that?”

Lestrade’s eyes were wide. When had Anderson become so perceptive?

**JOHN: Oh my God.**

**He turns away. Sherlock tears his scarf from around his neck and doubles over, burying his head in his hands, still making incoherent groaning noises. He drops to his knees next to the bomb while John wanders a little way down the carriage.**

**JOHN: This is it.**

**Behind him, Sherlock is flailing uselessly over the bomb.**

“If he didn’t know how to diffuse the bomb, he wouldn’t be doing that,” Anderson muttered. “He’d either have an idea or have no idea, but he wouldn’t be doing that like he’s trying to figure it out.”

John stared at him, seeing what he was saying just seconds after he said it. What was Sherlock doing? He wasn’t one of those people who tried a bunch of things, hoping to remember some vague detail. When had Anderson become better attuned to his friend that him?

**SHERLOCK: Um, er…**

**John stops and stares into space.**

**JOHN (softly): Oh my God.**

**SHERLOCK (still patting around the device and mumbling vaguely): Turn that off. Oh God! Er, um, er…**

*****

**1:29**

*****

What no one noticed was how the number staying at 1:29 for longer than a second. It was frozen.

**John turns back towards him, and Sherlock raises his head.**

**SHERLOCK (softly): I’m sorry.**

**John screws his eyes closed for a moment, then looks at him again.**

**JOHN: What?**

**SHERLOCK (softly, his eyes starting to fill with tears): I can’t…I can’t do it, John. I don’t know how.**

After having heard Anderson’s somehow plausible theory, and knowing Sherlock as well as they did, no one in the room could be put off by the imminent danger of the bomb. Having known Sherlock for so long and having seen his inner thoughts so intimately, it was hard to believe that he hadn’t ever learned to disarm a bomb or pinned everything on his lack of knowledge by neglecting to call someone who knew more – the police. It wasn’t like he hadn’t asked for help in the past.

**He straightens up on his knees.**

**SHERLOCK: Forgive me?**

John’s jaw tightened. “So that’s what this was all about? He made me think that I was about to die so that I’d forgive him for disappearing from my life for two years without a word?”

“I guess so,” Lestrade said.

**JOHN (tightly, furiously): What?**

**SHERLOCK (bringing his hands up into a praying position): Please, John, forgive me…for all the hurt that I caused you.**

**JOHN (waving a finger at him): No, no, no, no, no, no. This is a trick.**

“You should listen to your instincts, John. My brother is a crafty sort,” Mycroft advised.

**SHERLOCK: No.**

**JOHN: Another one of your bloody tricks.**

**SHERLOCK: No.**

**JOHN: You’re just trying to make me say something nice.**

**Sherlock chuckles briefly.**

**SHERLOCK: Not this time.**

**JOHN: It’s just to make you look good even though you behaved like…**

**He grimaces, fighting back tears, and turns away as he tries to steady his breathing. Sherlock moves away from the bomb and sits on the edge of one of the nearby seats. John grips one of the handrails, looking down at the floor, then stamps his foot furiously. His voice is low but savage when he speaks.**

**JOHN: I wanted you not to be dead.**

**SHERLOCK: Yeah, well, be careful what you wish for.**

**John sighs.**

**SHERLOCK: If I hadn’t come back, you wouldn’t be standing there and…**

**Baring his teeth, John turns away, shaking his head.**

**SHERLOCK: …you’d still have a future…with Mary.**

“He’s really laying it on thick, isn’t he?” Sally whispered to Anderson with just a shadow of her usual bite. He grinned back.

**JOHN (turning and pointing at him): Yeah. I know.**

**He grimaces and turns away again. Sherlock clenches his fist against his mouth, then wipes his nose, his face full of despair. Finally, John turns back.**

**JOHN (his voice low and tight): Look, I find it difficult.**

**Sherlock nods, his head lowered.**

**JOHN: I find it difficult, this sort of stuff.**

**SHERLOCK (looking up at him): I know.**

**John blows out a breath, lowering his head, then he straightens up and looks at Sherlock.**

**JOHN (his voice not much more than a whisper): You were the best and the wisest man… (he sniffs) …that I have ever known.**

Anderson frowned, quickly checking his watch. “The bomb should’ve gone off by now. It’s been over a minute and a half.” He grinned. “Thus proving my theory that Sherlock _did_ fact know how to diffuse the bomb!”

**Sherlock looks at him, his eyes are wide and tear-filled. John sighs, lowering his head again before raising it once more.**

**JOHN: Yes, of course, I forgive you.**

John sighed. “And there it is…”

**Sherlock gazes at him. John meets his eyes for a moment, then he takes in a deep breath through his nose, closes his eyes, raises his head, and braces himself for death.**

*****

**The scene whites out.**

Anderson frowned. “There wasn’t even a boom. How are they supposed to expect us to believe that the bomb went off? Never mind that it took too long.” He checked his watch again. “It took a whole minute and forty-three seconds, not a minute and twenty-nine seconds.”

“That’s a big difference for a bomb,” Lestrade agreed.

*****

**From the point of view of a video camera, Sherlock is sitting on a sofa in front of a window and looking directly into the camera.**

**SHERLOCK: The criminal network Moriarty headed was vast.**

**Cutaway shot of Sherlock standing beside Mycroft as he sits in his office in the Diogenes Club. Mycroft appears to be reading a report; Sherlock is looking at his phone.**

**SHERLOCK (voiceover): Its roots were everywhere like a cancer, so we came up with a plan.**

**Mycroft starts to type on his laptop. Sherlock leans down to look at the screen.**

**SHERLOCK (voiceover): Mycroft fed Moriarty information about me.**

Everyone spun around immediately to Mycroft, who sat with a smug smile on his face. Guilt wormed its way through all of them; they’d accused him of being his brother’s downfall, of being stupid enough to be led along by Moriarty, and here it was revealed that it had all been according to plan.

**Flashback to Mycroft walking into Jim’s cell, and Jim closing his eyes delightedly.**

**SHERLOCK (part voiceover, part into the camera): Moriarty in turn gave us hints – just hints – as to the extent of his web. We let him go…**

**Flashback to Jim being taken into court for his trial.**

**SHERLOCK (voiceover): …because it was important to let him believe he had the upper hand. (Into camera) And then I sat back and watched Moriarty destroy my reputation bit by bit.**

**Flashback to Sherlock sitting on the floor in the lab at Bart’s, repeatedly bouncing a small ball off the cupboard in front of him.**

Sally groaned. “Is this another of Anderson’s scenarios?”

Anderson spluttered. “Why would Sherlock be narrating this whole thing if it was one of mine?”

She shrugged. “You could be hallucinating it. You know he’s back. What if you hallucinated that he told you what really happened? I mean, why would he tell _you_?”

“Because John didn’t want to listen, and he loves explaining things?”

“You both have good points,” Lestrade cut in, “but I suggest we just let him finish?”

Both of them fell silent.

**SHERLOCK (voiceover): I had to make him believe he’d beaten me, utterly defeated me, and then he’d show his hand.**

**Various flashbacks of Sherlock and Jim on the rooftop, interspersed with Sherlock continuing to bounce the ball in the lab, and shots of Sherlock on the roof looking around the area surrounding Bart’s as if calculating escape routes.**

**SHERLOCK (voiceover): There were thirteen likely scenarios once we were up on that roof. Each of them were rigorously worked out and given a code name. It wasn’t just my reputation that Moriarty needed to bury – I had to die.**

“This one must be real!” Anderson suddenly remarked.

“How do you know?” John asked. Sometimes, he wished he’d listened to Sherlock explain how he did it.

“Because I wasn’t there when Sherlock told John he had thirteen scenarios, remember? He said it in that one restaurant before they were kicked out?”

“You’re right! For once…” Sally said

**Brief shot of Sherlock falling from the roof and John’s anguished cry of his name.**

**Flashback to the roof.**

**JIM: You can have me arrested…**

**Flashback to Mrs. Hudson in the hallway of 221, bringing a mug of tea to the workman which he gratefully accepts, then – out of her sight – puts one of his tools into his toolbox, revealing the pistol and silencer lying inside.**

**JIM: …you can torture me; you can do anything you like with me…**

**Flashback to the plainclothes police officer looking ominously around to Greg in his office.**

**JIM: …but nothing’s gonna prevent them from pulling the trigger.**

**Flashback to the sniper assembling his rifle in a building overlooking the pavement outside Bart’s, while John is in a taxi on his way back to the hospital.**

**JIM: Your only three friends in the world will die…unless…**

**SHERLOCK: …I kill myself – complete your story.**

**Jim nods and smiles ecstatically.**

**JIM: You’ve gotta admit that’s sexier.**

**Flashback to Sherlock shaking Jim’s hand.**

**SHERLOCK (voiceover): But the one thing I didn’t anticipate was just how far Moriarty was prepared to go. I suppose that was obvious, given our first meeting at the swimming pool – his death wish.**

**Flashback to Moriarty shoving the pistol into his mouth and pulling the trigger, and Sherlock’s cry of alarm as he recoils in shock, then looks around and slowly goes to the edge of the roof.**

**SHERLOCK (voiceover): I knew I didn’t have long. I contacted my brother; set the wheels in motion.**

**On the roof, Sherlock types a single word – LAZARUS – into his phone and sends the message.**

**SHERLOCK (voiceover): And then everyone got to work.**

Anderson shushed everyone incessantly before leaning forward, anxious to hear and see everything. He wanted to know which of his theories was right – or even close.

**On the ground, a group of men carry a giant airbag – currently deflated – out into the street.**

Anderson’s eyes widened. A giant airbag! Simple yet practical! That was from his seventh theory! That was one point for him.

**Molly looks out of the window. Sherlock steps up onto the ledge. Beside the ambulance station, on the other side to where John will later stand, the team is rolling out the airbag. Molly closes her eyes briefly, then looks upwards. Standing a short distance away from the hospital, a woman looks up towards the roof as if awaiting a signal. John’s taxi continues on its way to the hospital. As the airbag team continues their work, other people are standing and waiting. One of them has a stethoscope around his neck. The first woman looks around and sees the man on the cycle waiting nearby, one foot on a pedal and ready to go. A few feet away a second cyclist pushes his bike into position. The first cyclist has an earpiece in his ear, and many of the others – possibly all of them – do too. A faint male voice can be heard, presumably relaying instructions through the earpieces. John’s taxi turns into the road near the ambulance station, and a large group of men comes around the corner behind it. The taxi pulls up. Sherlock takes his phone from his pocket and sees a reply to his earlier text:**

*****

**LAZARUS IS GO**

*****

**John gets out of the taxi and heads towards the hospital, taking Sherlock’s phone call as he goes. Unseen by John – whose view is blocked by the ambulance station – the truck full of rubbish bags is in position by the bus stop, several people are waiting by the wall of the ambulance station, and the airbag is inflating at the other side of the station.)**

**SHERLOCK (over the phone): It’s a trick. Just a magic trick.**

“Oh, my God! He meant his death! He meant that his _death_ was the magic trick!” Anderson was nearly hyperventilating. “He told John that he wasn’t really dead from the start!”

John looked down, blushing. Even if it wasn’t true, and those words could be interpreted in many ways, he still couldn’t help the embarrassment that welled in his gut. He’d thought Sherlock meant his detective skills were the magic trick, not his supposed death. How could he have been so foolish?

Easy. Because it was Sherlock tricking him. It was Sherlock who liked to leave little clues that the detective knew he wouldn’t figure out.

**JOHN (into phone): All right, stop it now.**

**SHERLOCK: No, stay exactly where you are. Don’t move.**

**On the far side of the station, the team is carrying the airbag forward with blowers still attached to it as it continues to inflate.**

**John’s attention is fully focussed on Sherlock.**

**JOHN (into phone): All right.**

**The team puts the airbag down on the road just behind the truck.**

**SHERLOCK: Keep your eyes fixed on me. (His voice becomes frantic.) Please, will you do this for me?**

**The woman takes a phone call, and the second cyclist gets onto his bike.**

**Sherlock lowers his phone to his side, then drops it onto the roof.**

**SHERLOCK (voiceover): It was vital that John stayed just where I put him. That way, his view was blocked by the ambulance station.**

Anderson just barely stopped himself from squealing. Exactly! Exactly! Exactly! It was so clear! That was the only way he could’ve done it!

**John lowers his own phone and screams upwards.**

**JOHN: SHERLOCK!**

**Sherlock spreads his arms to either side and falls forward, plummeting towards the ground. Inside the building, Molly gasps as he falls past her window. We see from John’s point of view that the last thirty feet or so of the fall are blocked from his view by the station.**

**Unseen by him, Sherlock is plunging towards the airbag, twisting as he goes.**

**SHERLOCK (voiceover): I needed to hit the airbag – which I did.**

**He has turned himself onto his back in mid-air and makes a perfect landing in the centre of the airbag. Immediately everyone else springs into action, starting to run into position.**

**SHERLOCK (voiceover): Speed was paramount.**

**He scrambles towards the edge, the team pushing the bag down to help him get off quickly.**

**SHERLOCK (voiceover): The airbag needed to be got out of the way just as John cleared the station.**

**The moment Sherlock is on the ground, the team picks up the airbag and starts to run towards the left-hand side of the station. John starts to run along the right-hand side of the station. More extras are running into position.**

**SHERLOCK (voiceover): But we needed him to see a body.**

**Inside the hospital, a body is lying on a stretcher dressed in a Belstaff coat and a blue scarf. Molly and two male team members haul the body up and shove it out of the open window. The body impacts the ground directly below where Sherlock fell.**

**SHERLOCK (voiceover): That’s where Molly came in.**

**He runs with the airbag team as they head around the left side of the station. On the other side of the station, the cyclist is pedalling after John.**

**SHERLOCK (voiceover): Like figures on a weather clock, we went one way, John went the other.**

**John runs to the corner of the station, then slows down and stops in the middle of the road as he gets his first glimpse of the still figure lying on the pavement. The extras are already starting to gather around it, and the truck drives away.**

**SHERLOCK (voiceover): Then our well-timed cyclist…**

**The cyclist slams into John and sends him crashing to the ground.**

**SHERLOCK (voiceover): …put John briefly out of action…**

John scowled. “You know, that _really_ hurt!” he complained, only to be shushed by a nearly vibrating Anderson.

**At the other side of the station, a man is applying fake blood to Sherlock’s head. Two men come out of the hospital gates and race towards the body.**

**SHERLOCK (voiceover): …giving me time to switch places with the corpse on the pavement.**

**The two men pick up the body and drag it away. While John lies on the ground struggling to remain conscious, Sherlock races in and lies on the pavement, while the extras run in to surround him. The body is dragged back into the hospital grounds and the gates are closed.**

**SHERLOCK (voiceover): The rest was just window dressing.**

**A woman kneels down and pours a bag of blood onto the pavement around Sherlock’s head, and the man with the stethoscope applies more blood to Sherlock’s face. Grimacing with pain, John rolls onto his side and looks across to the pavement.**

**SHERLOCK (voiceover): And one final touch…**

**While the extras finish applying blood to him, Sherlock reaches into his coat pocket and takes out the rubber ball he was playing with earlier.**

**SHERLOCK (voiceover): …a squash ball under the armpit.**

**He reaches inside his shirt and pushes the ball under his right arm.**

**SHERLOCK (voiceover): Apply enough pressure and it momentarily cuts off the pulse.**

**Slowly John hauls himself to his feet and stumbles across the road, while one of the extras checks Sherlock’s right wrist to make sure there’s no pulse. John finally reaches the crowd.**

**JOHN: Let me come through, please.**

**The bystanders try to hold him back.**

**WOMAN: It’s all right…**

**JOHN: No, he’s my friend.**

**WOMAN: It’s all right, it’s all right.**

**JOHN: No, he’s my friend.**

**The woman continues trying to reassure him as John pushes forward to take hold of Sherlock’s wrist.**

**JOHN: He’s my friend. Please, let me just check…**

**The bystanders pull him away. A stretcher is wheeled over and, while John watches in anguish, the body is lifted onto it.**

“Genius…” Anderson breathed.

Yeah,” Lestrade agreed, “And just think, he had twelve more scenarios at the ready.”

*****

**In front of the video camera, Sherlock looks dispassionately into the lens. Anderson is sitting on a chair on the other side of the camera. They are in Anderson’s living room.**

**SHERLOCK: Everything was anticipated; every eventuality allowed for. It worked… (he smiles slightly) …perfectly.**

**ANDERSON: Molly? Molly Hooper? She was in on it?**

“You finally find out the real story and you don’t believe it? Seriously, Anderson?” Sally turned to her ex-co-worker.

“He’s probably just disappointed that it isn’t as flashy as some of his wild theories,” Molly guessed with a giggle.

Anderson flushed.

**SHERLOCK: Yes. You remember the little girl who was abducted by Moriarty?**

**Flashback to Claudette Bruhl screaming at the sight of Sherlock and pointing at him, and Lestrade dragging him out of the room.**

**LESTRADE: Get out!**

**A brief flashback of Anderson and Sally Donovan standing in front of Lestrade while they made him consider Sherlock’s guilt.**

**SHERLOCK: You assumed she reacted like that because I was her kidnapper. But I deduced Moriarty must have found someone who looked very like me to plant suspicion, and that that man – whoever he was – had to be got out of the way as soon as his usefulness ended. That meant there was a corpse in a morgue somewhere that looked just like me.**

**Anderson nods.**

**ANDERSON: Clever.**

**SHERLOCK: Molly found the body, faked the records, and I provided the other coat. I’ve got lots of coats.**

**ANDERSON: And what about the sniper aiming at John?**

**SHERLOCK: Mycroft’s men intervened before he could take the shot. He was invited to reconsider.**

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” Sally muttered, casting her eyes briefly at Mycroft. He met them with his own chilling gaze. She immediately looked away, shivering.

**Cutaway shot to Mycroft answering his ringing phone.**

**MYCROFT: Is it done?**

**He listens for a moment.**

**MYCROFT: Good.**

**He hangs up.**

**ANDERSON: And your homeless network?**

**SHERLOCK: As I explained, the whole street was closed off ... (he smiles) ... like a scene from a play.**

**Anderson looks at him thoughtfully.**

**SHERLOCK: Neat, don’t you think?**

**Anderson looks off to the side.**

**ANDERSON: Hmm.**

**SHERLOCK: What?**

**Anderson shrugs.**

**ANDERSON: Not the way I’d have done it.**

“That’s because all of your ways were stupid, too complicated, and were just for the entertainment. They were flashy, not practical,” Lestrade admonished him.

Anderson crossed his arms. “I guess that’s true. But some of my theories were pretty cool, right? And I was right about him being alive.”

**SHERLOCK (folding his arms): Oh really?**

**ANDERSON: No, I’m not saying it’s not clever, but ...**

**SHERLOCK (sternly): What?**

**Anderson shrugs again and waves his arm about as if he’s searching for the right words.**

**ANDERSON: …Bit…disappointed.**

**Sherlock sighs.**

**SHERLOCK: Everyone’s a critic. Anyway, that’s not why I came.**

**ANDERSON: No?**

**SHERLOCK: No. I think you know why I’m here, Phillip. “How I Did It” by Jack the Ripper?**

Anderson looked at the ground, muttering. “That’s not even my real name…”

“Welcome to my world,” Lestrade grumbled, wholeheartedly agreeing. “It’ll be a miracle the day he knows my name is Greg. It’s not like we’ve been working together for well on half a decade now.”

Meanwhile, Sally laughed. “Ha! I knew that was you!”

**Anderson looks at him wide-eyed, his mouth opening but no words coming out for a moment. He lowers his head.**

**ANDERSON: Didn’t you think it was intriguing? (He looks up hopefully.)**

**SHERLOCK (standing up): Lurid. A case so sensational, you hoped I’d be interested. But you overdid it, Phillip – you and your little ‘fan club.’**

**He starts to pace around him.**

**ANDERSON: I just couldn’t live with myself, knowing that I’d driven you to… (He stops.)**

**SHERLOCK: But you didn’t. You were always right. I wasn’t dead.**

**ANDERSON (staring up at him while he continues to pace): No. No, and everything’s okay now, isn’t it?**

“That’s not how it works, young man,” Mrs. Hudson chided.

**SHERLOCK: Yeah.**

**Anderson laughs in a relieved way.**

**SHERLOCK (stopping and looking down at him): Of course you’ve wasted police time, perverted the course of justice, risked distracting me from a massive terrorist assault that could have both destroyed Parliament and caused the death of hundreds of people.**

**ANDERSON (tearfully): Oh, God.**

**He breaks down in tears, grabbing Sherlock and pulling him close.**

**ANDERSON: Oh, God, I’m sorry, Sherlock. I’m so sorry.**

**He hangs on to him and weeps against his coat. Looking uncomfortable, Sherlock tentatively pats him on the shoulder a couple of times.**

A few people chuckled at the detective’s obvious display of discomfort.

**ANDERSON (abruptly stopping crying and looking around): Hang on.**

**He stands up and walks over to his wall of papers.**

**ANDERSON: That doesn’t make sense.**

**Behind him, Sherlock rolls his eyes and quietly sighs with an exasperated sound.**

**ANDERSON: How could you be sure John would stand on that exact spot? I mean, what if he’d moved?**

**Sherlock turns and quietly leaves the room.**

**ANDERSON (oblivious to his departure): Hey – how did you do it all so quickly? What if the bike hadn’t hit him? (Suspiciously) And anyway, why are you telling me all this? (He chuckles.) If you’d pulled that off, I’m the last person you’d tell the truth…**

Sally hummed. “You have a point, there,” she murmured.

**Turning around, he trails off when he realizes that he’s alone in the room. He stares for a moment, then chuckles. He switches between looking at all his paperwork and looking to where Sherlock had been standing.**

**ANDERSON (quietly, sounding amused): Sherlock Holmes!**

**He chuckles again, pointing to the spot where Sherlock had just been standing.**

**ANDERSON (even softer, with a combination of amusement and exasperation): Sherlock!**

**His chuckle slowly develops into laughter, and then into hysterical laughter as he starts tearing at the papers on the wall, ripping them off and whooping and giggling. Eventually, he collapses in the corner, rising up onto his knees to continue clawing at the papers and still laughing hysterically until he slumps back down again.**

“Okay… You’ve finally lost your marbles,” Sally said, shaking her head.

“Was he even there?” John wondered.

“We _know_ he was there because there was no way he could’ve known about the thirteen scenarios,” Lestrade said.

“I still don’t believe it.”

The DI shrugged. “Then perhaps it’s meant to be ambiguous. Of course, there’s always a way to know for sure.” He turned and sent a pointed look in Mycroft and Molly’s direction.

Mycroft shrugged, smiling like he had a sour candy resting on his tongue yet a foul stench in his nose.

*****

**The whited-out scene fades back in again and John is standing in the Tube carriage with his eyes closed and his head raised.**

“I guess that was all just a way to cause suspense.” Lestrade huffed.

“But it didn’t work,” Anderson said. He waggled his watch in the air.

“Yeah,” Sally agreed, “Because you’re a buzzkill.”

**He grips the handrail and lowers his head, blowing out a long breath. Nearby it sounds as if Sherlock is crying. His head is lowered, and the back of his hand is across his mouth while his body shakes with what seem to be sobs. John screws his eyes even more tightly closed. Sherlock lowers his hand and turns his head away, then turns back, hooting with laughter. John opens his eyes and looks across to him as Sherlock giggles in high-pitched hilarity. Staring at him, John steps forward and looks down at the countdown clock on the mother bomb. It is repeatedly flicking back and forth between 1:28 and 1:29. John turns away as if he can’t believe it.**

**Flashback to Sherlock frantically staring down at the bomb while John turns away. Sherlock’s gaze immediately falls on a small switch on the side of the bomb. He grins, then squeezes his fingers down the side of the device to flick the switch.**

**In the present, John turns back to look at the clock again and then stares upwards in disbelief.**

**JOHN: You…**

**Sherlock stands up, tears of mirth streaming down his cheeks.**

**SHERLOCK (laughing hysterically): Oh, your face!**

“Wow, Sherlock. How many times is this going to happen? Hey, John? How many times before you stop falling for it?” Lestrade could barely contain his laughter.

**JOHN: …utter…**

**SHERLOCK: Your face!**

**JOHN: You…**

**Sherlock grins.**

**SHERLOCK: I totally had you.**

**JOHN: You cock! I knew it! I knew it! You f…**

**SHERLOCK (simultaneously): Oh, those things you said – such sweet things! I-I never knew you cared!**

**JOHN (glaring at him): I will kill you if you ever breathe a word of this…**

**SHERLOCK (grinning while holding up two fingers in a Boy Scout’s salute): Scout’s honour.**

**JOHN: …to anyone. You KNEW!**

**SHERLOCK: Ahh. (He squats down to the bomb.)**

**JOHN (furiously): You knew how to turn it off!**

**SHERLOCK: There’s an Off switch.**

**JOHN: What?**

**SHERLOCK: There’s always an Off switch.**

**John bends down to look at the switch.**

**SHERLOCK (standing up again): Terrorists can get into all sorts of problems unless there’s an Off switch.**

**JOHN (tightly): So why did you let me go through all that?**

**SHERLOCK: I didn’t lie altogether. I’ve absolutely no idea how to turn any of these silly little lights off.**

“Seriously?” Sally threw her hands into the air. “Oh my God.”

**He chuckles and wipes the tears off his cheeks.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh!**

**Through the open door of the driver’s cab, a voice over a walkie-talkie radio can be heard, and flashlight beams are approaching along the tunnel. John stares then points towards them.**

**JOHN: And you did call the police.**

**SHERLOCK: ’Course I called the police.**

**Three armed officers are approaching, flashlights shining from their raised rifles.**

**JOHN: I’m definitely gonna kill you.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, please! Killing me – that’s so two years ago.**

Despite the callback, everyone burst out laughing. Even Mycroft spared an amused smile (a rare sight!).

**Quirking a smile at John, he turns and heads towards the driver’s cab. Despite himself, John lets out a silent laugh. Sherlock chuckles as he continues on, and John lets out an exasperated sigh.**

*****

**HOTEL. A uniformed female member of staff wheels a trolley along the corridor, presumably on her way to deliver a meal to one of the rooms. She passes Room 305 and the camera stops and focuses on the door. Lord Moran opens the door and looks cautiously up and down the corridor before picking up his briefcase and leaving the room. When he gets to the lift, he presses the Down button repeatedly, clearly not understanding that, like traffic lights, pushing the button more than once will never make things happen more quickly. It doesn’t matter anyway, because almost immediately a gun is cocked behind his head and the muzzle held to the back of his neck. The gun is being held by the uniformed woman we just saw. As Moran raises his hands, two men run towards him from opposite directions, also aiming pistols at him.**

“Yes!” John hissed under his breath. “Got him.”

*****

**BAKER STREET. DAY TIME. Outside the door to 221, reporters and photographers are milling around in the road. Over a phone can be heard the song “Do you hear the people sing?” from ‘Les Misérables’. Mycroft’s voice comes over the phone, his tone desperate.**

**MYCROFT’s VOICE: Sherlock, please. I beg of you. You can take over at the interval.**

Mycroft looked down with a sigh on his lips. For those who knew him, this was a look of absolute agony.

**Sherlock is in his bedroom, walking over to the wardrobe mirror and one-handedly buttoning his jacket.**

**SHERLOCK (into phone): Oh, I’m sorry, brother dear, but you made a promise. There’s nothing I can do to help.**

**MYCROFT (over the phone): But you don’t understand the pain of it – the horror!**

Lestrade grinned, extremely amused. “It’s just one showing. If you didn’t want to go, you shouldn’t have offered.”

Mycroft glared down his nose at the DI.

**Grinning, Sherlock ends the call and turns to John who is approaching along the corridor.**

**JOHN: Come on. You’ll have to go down. They want the story.**

**Rolling his eyes, Sherlock walks past him.**

**SHERLOCK: In a minute.**

**They walk into the living room where Mary is sitting on the sofa holding a glass of champagne. Mrs. Hudson sits in the nearby chair and Greg is sitting in John’s chair, also holding a champagne glass. Sherlock pops the cork on a new bottle and walks across the room with the bottle and a glass, kneeling down beside the coffee table to pour.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Oh, I’m really pleased, Mary. Have you set a date?**

“Oh, so you’re _actually_ getting married, now?” Sally asked, looking at John.

“I guess so, though I’m not sure when we’ll get engaged, seeing as Sherlock ruined the last bit.”

**MARY: Er, well we thought May.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Oh! Spring wedding!**

**MARY: Yeah. Well, once we’ve actually got engaged.**

**JOHN: Yeah.**

**MARY (looking pointedly at Sherlock): We were interrupted last time.**

**JOHN: Yeah.**

**Sherlock smiles at her.**

**LESTRADE: Well, I can’t wait.**

**He raises his glass in a toast. John, who has just put his jacket on, smiles at him. Putting down the glass he just poured, Sherlock stands up and walks towards the far window.**

**MARY: You will be there, Sherlock?**

**SHERLOCK: Weddings – not really my thing.**

**He looks across and winks at her. She smiles.**

**The door opens.**

**MOLLY: Hello, everyone.**

**JOHN: Hey, Molly.**

**MOLLY (holding hands with the man accompanying her): This is Tom.**

**John stares at her boyfriend almost does a double-take and then looks across the room to where Sherlock is looking out of the window.**

Sally blanched at the man on the screen. “You sure didn’t shoot very far after Sherlock left the country, did you?” she asked pointedly.

Molly furrowed her eyebrows. “What do you mean?” She looked closer at Tom.

“No, seriously,” Anderson cut in, “Did you dress him up like that or is that just how he is naturally?”

“How am I supposed to know?” she asked. “I haven’t even met him yet!”

**MOLLY: Tom, this is everyone.**

**TOM: Hi.**

**John continues to look at him in surprise. The man could practically cosplay Sherlock at any respectable fandom convention. He is tall and slender, has dark curly hair – a little shorter than Sherlock’s – and has large pale blue eyes and prominent cheekbones. He is wearing a dark coat with the collar turned up and the scarf around his neck is tied the same way that Sherlock ties his.**

**LESTRADE: Hi.**

**TOM: It’s really nice to meet you all. (He looks at John.) Hi.**

**John looks him up and down, grinning, then finally pulls himself together.**

**JOHN: Wow. Yeah, hi. I’m John. (He shakes his hand.) Good to meet you.**

**He looks across to Sherlock, who turns around from the window.**

**SHERLOCK: Ready?**

**JOHN: Ready.**

**Tom turns to meet Sherlock, who smiles down at Greg as he walks past him, then catches sight of Tom for the first time. He stops dead and his eyes widen. Tom looks at him equally wide-eyed as Sherlock gives him the once-over from his feet upwards.**

**LESTRADE (walking across the room behind them): Champagne?**

**MOLLY: Yes.**

**Sherlock’s jaw drops open a little and he turns his eyes towards John, who grins back at him expectantly. Finally, Sherlock holds out his hand to Tom, and they shake hands. Glancing down at Molly, Sherlock walks in between the couple and out of the door. Tom turns to watch him go.**

**Greg hands Molly a glass of champagne.**

**MOLLY: Thanks.**

**John starts to follow Sherlock but stops briefly to take another look at Tom, who is taking a glass from Greg.**

**TOM: Thank you.**

**Still apparently not quite able to take in the similarity, John heads out of the room and closes the door behind him. Mrs. Hudson gestures Tom towards the sofa.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Sit down, love.**

**TOM: Oh, thanks.**

**As he walks over there, Greg turns to Molly.**

**LESTRADE: So, um, is it serious, you two?**

**MOLLY (smiling): Yeah! I’ve moved on!**

Nearly everyone in the room shared a glance. “ _Right_ ,” Lestrade said, dragging out the word as he met Molly’s eyes.

She flushed, suddenly seeing the similarities. Now that she’d set herself away and had no idea about who Tom was or how his personality differed from Sherlock’s she saw perfectly well how nearly identical they were standing face to face.

**A little doubtfully, Greg looks across to Tom who is already being chatted to by Mary and Mrs. Hudson.**

**Outside on the landing, John walks over to Sherlock, who is looping his scarf around his neck. John points back towards the door.**

**JOHN (quietly): Did you, er…?**

**SHERLOCK (quietly): I’m not saying a word.**

**JOHN: No, best not.**

Molly flushed an even deeper shade of red. At least this one wasn’t a psychopath. Sherlock would’ve said something if he was.

**Sherlock looks down at how he has just tied his scarf, then throws up his hands with an exasperated expression and sighs. John looks at the door again, then turns back to Sherlock.**

**JOHN: I’m still waiting.**

**SHERLOCK: Hmm?**

**JOHN: Why did they try and kill me? If they knew you were on to them, why go after me – put me in the bonfire?**

**SHERLOCK (picking up his coat): I don’t know. I don’t like not knowing.**

“Wait. He really doesn’t know?” Anderson asked.

“And _you_ do?” Sally sneered at him.

“Well, no, but I would’ve thought he’d have a guess already. He’s _Sherlock_!”

Lestrade hummed. “Maybe it wasn’t the terrorists that they were after who did it.”

John turned toward him. “You think there’s another player?”

“Yes! The next big baddie!” Anderson exclaimed.

“How many times do I have to say it? Our lives are _not_ a television show! There is no _big bad_ _bad-guy_ for Sherlock to face!” John shouted.

Anderson pouted. “You don’t know that.”

**He trots down the stairs, John following.**

**SHERLOCK: Unlike the nicely embellished fictions on your blog, John, real life is rarely so neat.**

**He stops at the bottom of the stairs to put on his coat. John stops a couple of steps from the bottom.**

**SHERLOCK: I don’t know who was behind all this, but I will find out, I promise you.**

**JOHN: Don’t pretend you’re not enjoying this.**

**SHERLOCK (not looking back): Hmm?**

**JOHN: Being back. Being a hero again.**

“Who wouldn’t?” Anderson whispered.

**SHERLOCK: Oh, don’t be stupid.**

**JOHN: You’d have to be an idiot not to see it. You love it.**

**SHERLOCK (turning to face him): Love what?**

**JOHN: Being Sherlock Holmes.**

**SHERLOCK: I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean.**

**He turns and walks down the hall, putting on his gloves.**

**JOHN: Sherlock, you are gonna tell me how you did it? How you jumped off that building and survived?**

“Well, he told Anderson and you saw it, so, now you know,” Sally announced.

“If that was even the truth, that is. Mycroft and Molly seem less than willing to share,” John grumbled.

“Oh! No, it was real,” Molly assured them. “Everything he said. That was part of the plan.”

“There you go!” Lestrade grinned. “Mystery solved.”

**SHERLOCK (stopping but not turning round): You know my methods, John. I am known to be indestructible.**

**JOHN: No, but seriously. When you were dead, I went to your grave.**

**SHERLOCK: I should hope so.**

**JOHN: I made a little speech. I actually spoke to you.**

**SHERLOCK (turning to look at him): I know. I was there.**

**JOHN: I asked you for one more miracle. I asked you to stop being dead.**

**SHERLOCK (softly): I heard you.**

“And yet, you stayed dead for two years before answering my wish!” John yelled at the screen. The anger had mostly left him, but yelling just felt right.

**They look at each other for a moment, then Sherlock draws in a sharp breath and turns around.**

**SHERLOCK: Anyway, time to go and be Sherlock Holmes.**

**He smiles and starts towards the door, then hesitates for a moment and grimaces slightly before reaching to the coat rack. Taking his deerstalker from its peg, he puts it onto his head and tugs it into position, then opens the front door and goes out to meet the reporters as they gather around him, taking photos and shouting questions. John closes the door and steps to his side.**

*****

**Somewhere in a creepy-looking storage room, or laboratory, or warehouse, many rows of shelves are filled with files and folders. Displayed around the room are grotesque dolls, stuffed animals, and unpleasant-looking sculptures.**

“Where’s this now?” Anderson pondered. He squinted at the screen, hoping to make out some vague detail or clue to figure out what in the world was going on.

**At the end of the room, a man wearing thin-rimmed glasses is watching film or CCTV footage displayed on the wall. It shows several angles of John being rescued from the bonfire. Some of it is on a loop, and Mary’s anguished cry of “John!” repeats several times while Sherlock drags John out from underneath the bonfire.**

“It was him! He was the one who put John in that bonfire! I just know it!” Anderson exclaimed.

Meanwhile, Mycroft was studying the scene intently. Something just felt _off_ to him. Why were the screens so haphazardly spaced on the wall, like they were single sheets hovering in the air? Were they all just on one screen and spaced out?

**The man watches intently as the footage repeats over and over again, and his gaze finally settles on a freeze-frame of Sherlock leaning down to the fire just before he pulls John free. The man looks fixedly at Sherlock’s image…and his pupils rapidly contract.**

Mycroft drew a sharp breath, though was still somehow able to hide it from the others. He knew who that was. He knew _exactly_ who that was. If Sherlock was on his radar… He worried _immensely_ for his little brother.

The screen blanked out again.

"I told you there was a new big bad-guy!" Anderson howled, clapping his hands.

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	56. 3x2 Part 1 The Sign of Three

Anderson was still having his own little celebration about being right, while John sat, dumbfounded in his seat at the other man’s correct assumption. How had he been right? When had his life really just turned into another one of those shows on the telly that Sherlock liked to yell at? _Would_ this be a show that Sherlock would yell at? Probably. With all of the background information they were getting, he’d probably find all of these cases just as easy to solve as a three or a four, rather than his desired eight or nines.

Let’s face it, if _Anderson_ could figure these cases out, Sherlock probably wouldn’t even look at them.

Moving away from his thoughts of Anderson, John considered Sherlock’s parents. They’d been such an ordinary couple – for God’s sake, they’d come over just to recite the story of their lost lottery ticket to Sherlock! How could such…interesting people such as Mycroft and Sherlock come from such a normal man and woman?

He had to stifle a chuckle at Mycroft’s torturous viewing of _Les Misérables_ , though.

“What are you laughing about?” Lestrade asked.

“Oh, nothing,” John replied, letting out a chuckle or two.

Before Lestrade could question him further, the television screen lit up again with the front page of a newspaper.

**EIGHTEEN MONTHS AGO. A newspaper article is headed, “BANK GANG LEAVE COPS CLUELESS”. The accompanying photograph shows two men outside a court holding their hands up in front of their faces so they cannot be recognized in the pictures. At the entrance to the court itself, Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade and Detective Sergeant Sally Donovan walk briskly out through the door.**

**LESTRADE: They just walked out of there!**

**DONOVAN: Yeah, I know. I was sort of sitting next to you.**

**LESTRADE: The whole Waters family! They just walked right out of there!**

**DONOVAN: Again, I was in the room.**

**LESTRADE (angrily): How do they always manage that?**

**DONOVAN: They’re good.**

**LESTRADE: They’re greedy, and they’ll do it again, and next time we’re gonna catch ’em in the act.**

**DONOVAN: How?**

“You should get Sherlock,” Anderson suggested.

Sally rolled her eyes.

“It’s kind of hard to do that if he was still officially dead at that point,” Lestrade told the ex-Scotland Yard employee.

Anderson furrowed his eyebrows, drawing an exasperated sigh from Sally. “It said _eighteen months ago_ ; didn’t you see? Last we know, this took place in November!”

“Right.”

*****

**TWELVE MONTHS AGO. A newspaper article is headed, “WHO STOLE OUR TWO MILL?” and shows police officers standing in a cordoned-off area outside a building, with a police car parked behind the cordon. In real life, Greg gets into the driver’s seat of his car parked just outside the cordon and angrily slams the door closed. Sally is sitting in the passenger seat.**

**DONOVAN: No good?**

**LESTRADE: They always know we’re coming. (Furiously) How do they always know?**

**DONOVAN: They’re good. They work at it.**

**LESTRADE: They’re never gonna stop.**

**DONOVAN: Well, neither are we.**

“You seem like a better person now, at least,” John muttered. Then again, Sally had only ever been a complete a** to Sherlock. She’d been fine working with the rest of Scotland Yard and others.

*****

**SIX MONTHS AGO. A new headline reads, “POLICE ARE NO CLOSER TO WATERS GANG CONVICTION” and the photograph again shows the court. Greg storms out of the building with Sally behind him. He lets out an angry incoherent noise as he walks away.**

*****

**THREE MONTHS AGO. This time the headline reads, “Waters gang walk free – again!” and there is another photo of two men near the court, covering their faces against the photographers. On the steps outside the court, two uniformed police officers stand and watch while Greg repeatedly kicks the living daylights out of the back tyre of his car, grunting with fury.**

“You’re going to break your foot, Greg,” John said, looking worried and amused at the same time. He’d never known the DI to get so emotional, but then again, he’d been working on the case for over a year at that point – it was understandable that he was upset.”

**Sally stands beside the driver’s door and helplessly watches him. Finally, she has had enough.**

**DONOVAN (loudly): Greg!**

**Greg gestures dramatically at her.**

**LESTRADE (loudly): In the act! The only way we’re gonna do this! In. The. Act!**

**He kicks the tyre once more and then storms forward and angrily tugs the driver’s door open, inadvertently shoving Sally out of the way.**

*****

**YESTERDAY. A man wearing a gruesome clown’s mask and holding a sawn-off shotgun looks around a bank vault and then turns to where a second man, wearing a different but equally horrid-looking mask, straightens up from typing on a laptop. A third masked man is inside a nearby open strong room and is slowly carrying three heavy gold ingots toward the door. The laptop screen shows, “ALARMS OFFLINE”. The second man goes into the strong room where hundreds of gold ingots are stacked up on a couple of pallets. He lifts three ingots on top of each other, then hauls them up in his hands and makes his way out.**

**On a different laptop, the screen shows the same information as the one in the vault but this one now displays a second message reading, “*** HACKING DETECTED***”. In a car outside the bank, Sally sits in the passenger seat with the laptop on her lap. The rooftop lights of nearby police cars are flashing, and police officers are walking around. Greg sits beside her.**

**LESTRADE: You still blocking it?**

**DONOVAN: Yeah. Very efficiently hacked. They must be bloody pleased with themselves.**

**LESTRADE: They must be! (He smiles at her.)**

Anderson was grinning ear to ear. “You’re finally getting them?”

Lestrade smiled smugly, looking incredibly pleased with himself. “Appears so.”

**Inside the strong room, the third clown is looking down at the two pallets, which are now empty. The second clown walks over to him and puts his hand on his shoulder.**

**Outside, armed police begin to run into the bank. Greg and Sally are out of the car and Greg gestures to her as they follow the others.**

**LESTRADE: Right then?**

**DONOVAN: Oh, no! No, you’ve gotta make the arrest. This one’s yours, boss.**

**LESTRADE: You’ve never called me ‘boss’ before.**

**DONOVAN: Ah, well, look what happens when you’re good!**

**They both grin as they walk on.**

**LESTRADE: You know how most days aren’t good days? This is a good day.**

**DONOVAN: Not for the Waters family.**

**Greg’s phone beeps a text alert. He looks down towards his pocket and grimaces but then ignores it.**

**DONOVAN: Okay: ten men on the roof; all exits covered; the bank’s closed, so there are no hostages to worry about…**

**Greg’s phone beeps again. Again he grimaces and Sally looks at him.**

“Someone’s popular,” Sally teased.

**LESTRADE: Sorry, no, go on, go on.**

**DONOVAN: Um, we’ve got the tunnel entrance covered; and Davies, Willard and Christie are heading up our Response on Mafeking Road.**

**Greg’s phone beeps twice more. He takes it from his pocket and stops to look at it.**

**LESTRADE: Sorry, I’d better get this.**

**DONOVAN (continuing onwards with the other officers): It’s him, isn’t it?**

**Greg’s face fills with shock as he reads the string of messages he has received:**

*****

**HELP.**

**BAKER ST.**

**NOW.**

**HELP ME.**

**PLEASE.**

*****

Lestrade blanched at the screen.

“What the bloody hell happened?” John demanded, almost launching himself out of his seat. Sherlock would never ask for help with something he couldn’t do on his own – and he could do most things on his own. And he said please. He hardly ever said please. It must’ve been serious.

Lestrade was in a tight spot. Here he was, about to make an arrest eighteen months in the making, and Sherlock just _had_ to get himself into trouble. What kind of trouble? He didn’t think he wanted to know. Hopefully, nothing else life-threatening, though considering he was calling him in what appeared to be a desperate plea, he knew the decision he would have to make.

**He looks up at Sally.**

**LESTRADE: I-I, I have to go.**

**DONOVAN (turning back in surprise): What?!**

**LESTRADE: You make the arrest.**

**DONOVAN: No way!**

**LESTRADE: Sorry. You’ll be fine. I’m-I’m-I’m cool with this.**

**DONOVAN: Jones’ll get all the credit if you leave now! You know he will!**

**Greg hesitates, clearly reluctant to give up his chance for success.**

**LESTRADE: Yeah, but d... It doesn’t matter. I have to go.**

**He turns and hurries away. Sally watches him for a moment, grimacing, then continues on with the other officers.**

**Outside, Greg is running for his car, making a phone call as he goes.**

**LESTRADE (into phone): Back-up. I need maximum back-up. Baker Street, now!**

**He gets into his car and speeds off.**

Anderson scoffed. “Watch it be nothing at all.”

*****

**221B BAKER STREET. Greg races up the stairs and into the living room.**

**LESTRADE (breathlessly): What’s going on?**

**Sherlock is sitting at the dining table looking at his laptop. The fingers of both his hands are pressed into his temples.**

**SHERLOCK: This is hard.**

**LESTRADE: What?**

**SHERLOCK: Really hard. Hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.**

**Lowering his hands, he picks up a book and holds it up to show Greg. The book is called “How to write an unforgettable best man speech”.**

**SHERLOCK: Have you any funny stories about John?**

Everyone turned to Anderson.

“How do all of your lunatic ideas keep turning out to be true?” Lestrade wondered aloud. He was slightly exasperated, mostly because nothing Anderson said _before_ he was kicked off the force was true, but now that he was a complete nut-ball, everything just kept falling into place as soon as he said it.

**Greg stares at him in disbelief. Outside, police car sirens are announcing their way into Baker Street and screeching to a halt.**

**LESTRADE: What?!**

**Putting the book down, Sherlock looks up at him.**

**SHERLOCK: I need anecdotes.**

**He seems to notice Greg’s expression.**

**SHERLOCK: Didn’t go to any trouble, did you?**

**Greg stares at him, still breathing heavily. Outside, an ambulance siren is screaming its way up the road, and a helicopter can be heard approaching.**

“You got a helicopter?” Mrs. Hudson cackled in sheer uncontrolled humour.

“No,” Sally said, “No trouble at all.” Her voice practically oozed sarcasm.

**Sherlock’s eyes shift sideways when he becomes aware of the noise outside, and the curtains in the open window behind him billow inwards as the helicopter hovers lower. Sherlock looks around as the billowing curtains knock some sheet music off its stand. Greg closes his eyes in exasperation.**

“Hey, but at least we know that this episode is about John’s wedding!” Anderson announced.

“How do we know the _whole_ case will revolve around his wedding?” Molly asked.

“And why are you calling it an episode?” John put in.

“You can keep denying it, but your life is a tv show now, John. Of _course,_ the whole thing is about your wedding.”

*****

**At 221B Baker Street, violin playing can be heard, playing a gentle waltz. Mrs. Hudson comes out of 221A carrying a tray of tea things.**

“See?” Anderson pointed out as ‘ _The Sign of Three’_ came onto the screen. “It has an episode title and everything! Just like all the rest!”

**She stops, smiling with delight at the sound of the music, then goes up the stairs. The living room door is closed, and she stops outside for a moment, then opens the door. Inside, Sherlock isn’t playing his violin as she believed. Instead, wearing a camel coloured dressing gown over his shirt and trousers, he is waltzing around the room on his own, holding an imaginary partner while he dances in time to the music. He glances over his shoulder when his landlady walks in.**

“He dances?” Sally wondered quietly. She guessed he must’ve been classically trained, what with those old fashioned-looking parents and his violin, but she’d never envisioned him actually dancing before. She almost wanted to formulate another question but kept her mouth shut. Did Mycroft dance, too? She cast her eyes to him, only to be met with a glare that said he knew exactly what she was thinking.

**SHERLOCK: Shut up, Mrs. Hudson**

**MRS. HUDSON: I haven’t said a word.**

**SHERLOCK (sighing as he continues to waltz): You’re formulating a question. It’s physically painful watching you thinking.**

**He stops dancing.**

**MRS. HUDSON: I thought it was you playing.**

**SHERLOCK (gesturing to a music player on the dining table): It was me playing.**

**He picks up a remote control, switches off the music player and bends down to make a notation on the sheet music lying on the table.**

**SHERLOCK: I am composing.**

“Composing for what?” Anderson frowned.

Mycroft turned his nose up at the screen as if the very thought of dancing insulted him – or maybe it was just the correlation between dancing and socialization that did the trick. “I assume for John and Mary’s wedding,” he nearly shuddered at the thought of a wedding.

**MRS. HUDSON (putting her tray onto the table beside John’s chair): You were dancing.**

**SHERLOCK: I was road-testing.**

**MRS. HUDSON: You what?**

**SHERLOCK (throwing down his pen and turning to her): Why are you here?**

**MRS. HUDSON: I’m bringing you your morning tea. (She pours some milk into the teacup.) You’re not usually awake.**

Sally frowned. “I thought you weren’t their housekeeper.”

“I’m not.”

“Then why do you bring him tea every morning if you’re not?”

“I do what pleases me,” came Mrs. Hudson’s crisp reply.

**SHERLOCK (sitting down in his chair): You bring me tea in the morning?**

**MRS. HUDSON (pouring the tea): Well, where d’you think it came from?!**

**SHERLOCK: I don’t know. I just thought it sort of happened.**

“That’s not how the world works, Sherlock,” Lestrade said, sighing as he placed his head in his hands. He laughed.

Mrs. Hudson smiled. “He lives in a bit of a fantasy world all of his own, doesn’t he?” she asked rhetorically.

John sighed. “Wouldn’t that be nice? A world where morning tea just sort of _happens_?”

**MRS. HUDSON: Your mother has a lot to answer for.**

**She takes the cup and saucer over to him.**

**SHERLOCK: Mm, I know. I have a list. Mycroft has a file.**

Mrs. Hudson giggled softly.

**Giggling, Mrs. Hudson sits down in John’s chair.**

**MRS. HUDSON (excitedly): So – it’s the big day, then!**

**SHERLOCK (taking a sip of tea): What big day?**

“Stop playing dumb,” Lestrade exclaimed, “You know perfectly well what day if you were composing a waltz for it!”

**MRS. HUDSON: The wedding! John and Mary getting married!**

The same woman squealed, turning to John to see his reaction. He seemed…happy, to know he was getting married, though he still didn’t know much about Mary other than what they’d seen here. And what was it about what Sherlock saw in her? She was a liar? Was it because she hadn’t told him she didn’t like his moustache? Or was it something more?

**SHERLOCK: Two people who currently live together are about to attend church, have a party, go on a short holiday, and then carry on living together. What’s big about that?**

**MRS. HUDSON: It changes people, marriage.**

**SHERLOCK: Mmm, no it doesn’t.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Well, you wouldn’t understand ’cause you always live alone.**

**Sherlock is lifting his teacup to his mouth but stops momentarily.**

**SHERLOCK: Your husband was executed for double murder. You’re hardly an advert for companionship. (He drinks.)**

**MRS. HUDSON: Marriage changes you as a person, in ways that you can’t imagine.**

**SHERLOCK: As does lethal injection. (He smiles pointedly at her.)**

**MRS. HUDSON: My best friend, Margaret – she was my chief bridesmaid.**

**Putting his cup and saucer down on the table beside him, Sherlock rolls his eyes.**

**MRS. HUDSON: We were going to be best friends forever, we always said that; but I hardly saw her after that.**

**SHERLOCK (standing up): Aren’t there usually biscuits?**

**MRS. HUDSON: I’ve run out.**

**SHERLOCK: Have the shops?**

**He pointedly walks towards the door.**

**MRS. HUDSON: She cried the whole day, saying, “Ooh, it’s the end of an era.”**

“She probably just had her doubts about your husband,” Molly murmured to the old landlady. “He _was_ the leader of a drug cartel, after all.’

“And a murderer,” Anderson added.

**SHERLOCK (gesturing towards the stairs): I’m sure the shop on the corner is open.**

**MRS. HUDSON: She was probably right, really.**

**Sherlock closes his eyes and grimaces.**

**MRS. HUDSON: I remember she left early. I mean, who leaves a wedding early? (She shakes her head.) So sad.**

“Sherlock would probably leave a wedding early if he attended a wedding at all,” Sally muttered.

Molly smacked her.

“Ow! What? You know I’m right!”

**SHERLOCK: Mmm. Anyway, you’ve got things to do.**

**MRS. HUDSON: No, not really. I’ve got plenty of time to ...**

**SHERLOCK (sternly): Biscuits.**

**She gets out of her chair, tutting.**

**MRS. HUDSON (walking towards the door): I really am going to have a word with your mother.**

**SHERLOCK: You can if you like. She understands very little.**

“Sherlock!” Molly scolded, even though he couldn’t actually hear her. “You can’t say such things about your mother!”

**He closes the door on her, then turns around sighing. He turns his head and looks towards John’s chair for a few long moments, then walks through the kitchen and down the hallway.**

**SHERLOCK (taking off his dressing gown): Right, then.**

**He walks through his bedroom to his wardrobe, where a morning suit is hanging from the open door. He looks at it.**

**SHERLOCK: Into battle.**

*****

**A man is doing up the buttons on the jacket of his military dress uniform.**

“Who is that?” Anderson asked. “And why is he only buttoning his jacket with one hand? Is he missing the other one?”

John scowled at him. That was an incredibly rude thing to say. He had an idea as to who that was, of course, but he was more surprised than anything that the man would actually attend his wedding.

**Although it would seem easier to use two hands to do this, he is only using his right hand. A suitcase is on the nearby bed and laid out beside it is a white webbing belt, a pair of white gloves, a military cap and a ceremonial sword. The man reaches down and picks up the belt and swings it around the left-hand side of his waist and then clamps it to his side with his left arm and now we see why he is only using his right hand. His left hand has been severely burned in the past and is horrendously scarred. It is clear that he is unable to use this hand. Reaching behind himself he tugs the belt around his waist, pulls it tight and does it up. He bends down to the cap, picks it up and puts it on, and we now see that the left side of his face is also severely scarred. He stares ahead of himself as he straightens his jacket.**

John sucked in a breath. It _was_ him.

*****

**Church bells peal and the doors to a church open. John and Mary, newly married, walk out followed by Sherlock and the chief bridesmaid, whose name is Janine, then two more bridesmaids and the vicar. A photographer is waiting outside.**

**PHOTOGRAPHER: Congratulations! Okay, hold it there – I wanna get this shot of the newlyweds.**

**John and Mary stop and the bridesmaids stand behind them. Sherlock steps to Mary’s side.**

**PHOTOGRAPHER: Er, just the bride and groom, please.**

**Sherlock doesn’t move. John looks round at him.**

**JOHN: Sherlock?**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, sorry.**

**He walks out of the shot.**

“Seems a little reluctant to let you go, doesn’t he, John?” Lestrade whispered, elbowing him.

**PHOTOGRAPHER: Okay – three, two, one, cheese!**

**The bridesmaids throw handfuls of confetti into the air and the photographer starts taking pictures. The rest of the congregation comes out and the photo-taking continues, including one of John, Sherlock and Greg standing side by side, with a young pageboy – about eight years old – standing in front of them wearing either John’s or Sherlock’s top hat. Later, the photographer takes a picture of Sherlock and Janine. Nearby, Molly stands with her fiancé Tom. She is gazing at Sherlock and if she really believes that she has “moved on,” her expression suggests that she’s not fooling anyone but herself.**

“Seriously Molly? You bring your fiancé to John’s wedding, but you can’t stare at anyone other than Sherlock the whole time? Just because he’d standing next to a different woman?” Sally muttered.

“W-what?” Molly turned to her, startled.

“You know? On the screen? You were staring at Sherlock together with that bridesmaid.”

**After the photographer has finished with them, Janine looks over at Sherlock.**

**JANINE: The famous Mr. Holmes! I’m very pleased to meet you. But no sex, okay?**

**SHERLOCK (startled): Um, sorry?**

**JANINE (laughing): You don’t have to look so scared. I’m only messing. Bridesmaid, best man… It’s a bit traditional.**

**She gently punches his arm. He looks down with distaste.**

**SHERLOCK: Is it?**

**JANINE (a little awkwardly): But not obligatory!**

**SHERLOCK: If that’s the sort of thing you’re looking for ... (he jerks his head towards one of the wedding guests) ... the man over there in blue is your best bet. Recently divorced doctor with a ginger cat… (there’s a close-up of a ginger cat hair stuck on the man’s suit, and the sound of a meow) …a barn conversion… (close-up of sawdust on the man’s footwear) ... and a history of erectile dysfunction.**

**The close-up pulls out a little to reveal that the man is wearing cowboy boots. There’s the sound of a bullet ricocheting off something with a high-pitched ping, like in a Western movie. Sherlock blinks.**

**SHERLOCK: Reviewing that information, possibly not your best bet.**

**JANINE: Yeah, maybe not.**

**SHERLOCK (looking puzzled): Sorry – there was one more deduction there than I was expecting.**

“What? His brain just makes automatic deductions without him even trying? Is that how it works?”

Mycroft scoffed at Sally’s incredibly dull question. “My brother’s mind is always moving far faster than he can comprehend. It’s part of the reason he’s so…apprehensive to be around.

**JANINE: Mr. Holmes… (she takes his arm) …you’re going to be incredibly useful.**

**Again Sherlock looks down at her hand. He frowns.**

“Is she using him to find herself a suitable date at her friend’s wedding?” Molly questioned, aghast.

*****

**Later, John and Mary, with Sherlock at John’s side, are standing outside the venue for the reception, greeting the guests.**

**MARY (shaking a man’s hand): Hello. Lovely to meet you.**

**She then kisses a woman. The woman moves on to kiss John, and another man moves in to kiss Mary.**

**MARY: How are you?**

**MAN: You look beautiful, Mary.**

**MARY: Thank you!**

**MAN: Congratulations.**

**More guests move past the three of them, then a man wearing a lurid purple tie comes forward. Mary looks at him with delight.**

“That one looks suspicious,” Lestrade muttered.

“And uncomfortable. Why is he uncomfortable?” Anderson wondered.

“Ex-lover, perhaps?” Sally suggested.

Lestrade shook his head. “no. If he was, he wouldn’t have been invited and still come. More of a friend turned stalker. Sherlock must’ve set him straight before he came to the wedding.”

“How would you know?” Sally turned to him.

“You think Sherlock _wouldn’t_ vet their guest list for anyone suspicious?” he asked incredulously.

John shrugged, rolling his eyes. “Of course he’d do that at my wedding…”

**MARY: David!**

**She reaches out her arms ready to hug him. He leans away, laughing nervously, and just clasps her arms briefly.**

**DAVID: Mary. Congratulations. You look, um, very nice.**

**He quickly moves away from her. Mary looks puzzled. He shakes John’s hand.**

**DAVID: John, congratulations. You’re a lucky man.**

**JOHN: Thank you.**

**MARY: Um, er, David, this is Sherlock.**

**Sherlock smiles at him, tight-lipped.**

**DAVID: Um, yeah. We’ve, um, we’ve met.**

**He looks down nervously.**

Lestrade nodded, convinced of his own assumption.

*****

**FLASHBACK. David, sitting at the dining table in 221B, looks around the room and then turns to where Sherlock is sitting opposite him holding a pen.**

**DAVID: So, what exactly are my duties as an usher?**

**He picks up the Sudokube from the desk and idly plays with it. Sherlock frowns disapprovingly, then puts down his pen and folds his hands.**

**SHERLOCK: Let’s talk about Mary, first.**

**DAVID: Sorry, what?**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, I think you know what. You went out with her for two years.**

Sally hissed. “I told you he’s an ex-lover!”

**DAVID: A-ages ago. We’re j... we’re just good friends now.**

Lestrade frowned back at her. “But I was right about him still being interested even though they’re just friends.

**SHERLOCK: Is that a fact?**

**He looks down at his notes in front of him.**

**SHERLOCK: Whenever she tweets, you respond within five minutes regardless of time or current location, suggesting you have her on text alert. In all your Facebook photographs of the happy couple, Mary takes centre frame whereas John is always partly or entirely excluded.**

**DAVID (laughing uncomfortably): You can’t assume from that I’ve still got some kind of interest in Mary.**

**SHERLOCK: You volunteered to be a shoulder to cry on, on no less than three separate occasions. Do you have anything to say in your defence?**

**David opens his mouth but is unable to speak.**

**SHERLOCK (looking down and making a note): I think from now on we’ll downgrade you to ‘casual acquaintance.’ No more than three planned social encounters a year, and always in John’s presence.**

**He puts the pen down and folds his hands again, looking intensely at David.**

**SHERLOCK: I have your contact details. I will be monitoring.**

**DAVID (a little wide-eyed): They’re right about you. You’re a bloody psychopath.**

**SHERLOCK: High-functioning sociopath ... with your number.**

**He grins maniacally, showing a lot of teeth, then drops the smile and steeples his hands in front of his chin, looking sternly at David.**

Everyone suppressed a shudder.

“Never again do I want to see Sherlock Holmes smile like that,” Sally mumbled. “It’s bloody creepy!”

**David looks down, then lets out a nervous breath and gets up and walks away. Sherlock picks up the Sudokube and puts it back into its proper position on the table.**

*****

**THE PRESENT. David makes a couple of anxious noises, waves briefly to Mary and goes indoors. John looks round at Sherlock with a curious expression but Sherlock raises his head and looks inscrutable. The next guest approaches.**

**MARY: Hello!**

**The greetings continue. A woman in a black and white dress approaches and kisses Mary.**

**MARY: Pleased to see you.**

**The woman moves on to kiss and hug John.**

**WOMAN: Congratulations.**

**JOHN: Thanks for coming, thank you.**

**The young pageboy is standing a few paces away. Mary smiles down at him.**

**MARY: Hello, Archie!**

**The boy’s eyes are fixed on Sherlock and the moment he has a clear route he runs straight to him and wraps his arms around him, smiling happily. Sherlock looks awkwardly down at him.**

“What did he do to get that kid to like him so much?” John wondered. He still wasn’t even sure who that was – most likely one of Mary’s friends and her son.

**SHERLOCK: Mm, yes, um, well done in the service, Archie.**

**The woman in the black and white dress, obviously Archie’s mother, smiles at them.**

**MUM: He’s really come out of his shell. I don’t know how you did it.**

Lestrade scoffed, which was followed closely by a laugh from Sally and Anderson. They were probably imagining what Sherlock could’ve done – been himself, by the sounds of it.

**SHERLOCK: Um…**

*****

**FLASHBACK. 221B. Sherlock sits in his chair and looks at Archie sitting in John’s chair. They stare straight-faced at each other for a moment, then Sherlock draws in a breath.**

**SHERLOCK: Basically it’s a cute smile to the bride’s side, cute smile to the groom’s side and then the rings.**

“ _He_ was the one they sent him to, to explain what he had to do for the wedding?” Sally asked incredulously.

**ARCHIE (instantly): No.**

**SHERLOCK: And you have to wear the outfit.**

**ARCHIE (instantly): No.**

**SHERLOCK: You really do have to wear the outfit.**

**ARCHIE (instantly): What for?**

**SHERLOCK: Grown-ups like that sort of thing.**

**ARCHIE (instantly): Why?**

**Sherlock pauses for a moment.**

**SHERLOCK: …I don’t know. I’ll ask one.**

**ARCHIE (more slowly, thoughtfully): You’re a detective.**

**SHERLOCK: Yep. (He pops the ‘p’ loudly.)**

**ARCHIE: Have you solved any murders?**

**SHERLOCK: Sure. Loads.**

**ARCHIE: Can I see?**

**SHERLOCK (after only a momentary hesitation): Yeah, all right.**

A collective sigh echoed through the room.

**They get up and go over to the laptop on the dining table. Sherlock shows him a series of pictures – which we can’t see – and after a while, Archie leans in to look more closely at an image.**

**ARCHIE: What’s all the stuff in his eye?**

**SHERLOCK: Maggots.**

**ARCHIE: Cool!**

**SHERLOCK (looking at him for a moment): Mm!**

Sally frowned. “That kid is either a little Sherlock or a little Moriarty, and I’m not sure which is more disturbing.”

Everyone glared at her, and she shrunk down in her seat.

“Let’s hope he turns out like Sherlock, then.

*****

**THE PRESENT. Archie is still hugging Sherlock.**

**MUM: He said you had some pictures for him, as a treat.**

**SHERLOCK: Er, yes ... (he pats Archie’s head) ... if he’s good.**

**ARCHIE (turning to look at his mum): Beheadings.**

Sally shuddered again, more keenly aware of the people watching her, so she kept her mouth shut. Still, that boy seemed more like Moriarty than Sherlock. Who thought maggots and beheadings were cool, especially at that age?

**SHERLOCK (quickly): Lovely little village.**

**He unwraps Archie from around him and gently pushes him towards the entrance.**

**MUM: Hmm? (She looks down at Archie as they go inside.) What did you say?**

“She’s going to completely freak once she finds out,” Molly said.

*****

**INSIDE. Molly is canoodling with Tom, repeatedly kissing his cheek. Tom indicates that the photographer is approaching them, and she turns and smiles into the camera while he takes some pictures.**

**PHOTOGRAPHER: Nice.**

**He moves on to the next nearest couple, who are Mrs. Hudson and what must surely be Mr. Chatterjee from the sandwich shop. Apparently, Mrs. Hudson has forgiven him for already having two wives – or she hasn’t yet found out about the one in Islamabad. She smiles happily for the camera; Mr. Chatterjee doesn’t look quite so happy to be there.**

Sally furrowed her eyebrows at John. “why did you invite the sandwich shop owner to your wedding?”

John shrugged. “I guess Mrs. Hudson did. She probably didn’t know about his second wife in Islamabad at that point.”

Meanwhile, Mrs. Hudson looked rather affronted.

**The photographer turns and snaps several pictures of Greg who is sitting at a table and drinking. Greg, looking a little glum, raises his glass to him.**

**John and Mary are standing nearby. John indicates as a waiter approaches with a plate of canapés.**

**JOHN: Oh, d’you want…?**

**MARY (taking one from the plate): I’m starving.**

**JOHN (declining the waiter’s offer of the plate): Thanks.**

**MARY: Had to lose so much weight to get into this dress.**

**John chuckles. Sherlock and Janine are standing together a short distance away. Janine looks admiringly at the waiter as he walks past.**

**JANINE: He’s nice.**

**Sherlock sniffs deeply.**

**SHERLOCK: Traces of two leading brands of deodorant, both advertised for their strength, suggestive of a chronic body odour problem manifesting under stress.**

**JANINE: Okay, done there. What about his friend?**

**Sherlock turns to look where she’s looking. In the nearby kitchen, another waiter is carefully pulling out the skewer from the middle of a large joint of roast beef.**

**SHERLOCK: Long-term relationship, compulsive cheat.**

**JANINE: Seriously?**

**SHERLOCK: Waterproof cover on his smartphone. (Close-up of the phone in the man’s jacket pocket.) Yet his complexion doesn’t indicate outdoor work. (Close-up of the man’s face.) Suggests he’s in the habit of taking his phone into the shower with him, which means he often receives texts and emails he’d rather went unseen.**

**JANINE (smiling admiringly at Sherlock): Can I keep you?**

**SHERLOCK: D’you like solving crimes?**

**JANINE: Do you have a vacancy?**

“Don’t do it,” Sally advised the woman on screen. “He’ll just keep calling you John the whole time—because he misses his boyfriend, who is now married to a woman.” She murmured the second part under her breath.

**Sherlock’s eyes drift over to John, then he looks away again.**

**Mary puts a hand on John’s shoulder.**

**MARY: So, Harry?**

**JOHN: Er, no. No show.**

**MARY: Darling, I’m so sorry.**

**JOHN: It was a bit of a punt asking her, I suppose. Still, free bar – wouldn’t have been a good mix.**

**He looks down, then raises his eyes towards the entrance and looks surprised.**

**JOHN: Oh, God, wow!**

**The scarred uniformed man we saw earlier has just walked in.**

**MARY: Oh, G... Is that…?**

**JOHN: He came!**

John smiled happily.

“Who came? Who is that?” Anderson turned to John, trying to read his face but coming up empty.

**While Mary smiles with delight, John walks over to the man and they salute each other. Sherlock walks over to Mary.**

**SHERLOCK: So that’s him. Major Sholto.**

**His voice sounds disapproving.**

**MARY: Uh-huh.**

**Sherlock narrows his eyes as he looks at the two men.**

**SHERLOCK: If they’re such good friends, why does he barely even mention him?**

**MARY: He mentions him all the time to me. He never shuts up about him.**

**SHERLOCK: About him?**

**MARY: Mm-hmm.**

**She takes a drink from her wine glass, then grimaces.**

**MARY: Urgh. I chose this wine. It’s bloody awful.**

“Then why would you choose it?” Sally asked pointedly. She received no answer, though Mycroft had a knowing glimmer in his eye.

**SHERLOCK: Yes, but it’s definitely him that he talks about?**

Lestrade grinned. “Hey John, looks like someone is jealous,” he whispered to the ex-army doctor.

**MARY: Mm-hmm.**

**At the entrance**

**JOHN: I’m very, very glad to see you, sir. I know you don’t really do this sort of thing.**

**SHOLTO: Well, I do for old friends, Watson ... John. It’s good to see you.**

**JOHN: You too.**

**Sholto nods then looks around the room.**

**SHOLTO: Civilian life suiting you, then?**

**JOHN: Er, er, yes, well ... (he gestures towards Mary) ... I think so, sir.**

**SHOLTO: No more need for the trick cyclist?**

“A trick cyclist?” Anderson asked.

“A psychiatrist, for God’s sake,” Sally answered, rolling her eyes.

**JOHN: No, I-I go now and then. Sort of a top-up.**

**Sholto nods.**

**JOHN: Therapy can be very helpful.**

**Sholto awkwardly looks away.**

**JOHN: Where are you living these days?**

**SHOLTO: Oh, way out in the middle of nowhere. You wouldn’t know it.**

**Back at Sherlock and Mary**

**SHERLOCK: I’ve never even heard him say his name.**

**MARY: Well, he’s almost a recluse – you know, since…**

**SHERLOCK: Yes.**

**MARY: I didn’t think he’d show up at all. John says he’s the most unsociable man he’s ever met.**

**SHERLOCK: He is? He’s the most unsociable?**

**MARY: Mm.**

**SHERLOCK: Ah, that’s why he’s bouncing round him like a puppy.**

Several people chuckled. He was _so_ jealous.

**Mary grins and hugs his arm.**

**MARY: Oh, Sherlock! Neither of us were the first, you know.**

Lestrade grinned. “Okay, I like her.” He turned to John. “Even your future wife knows you were head over heels for Sherlock and vice versa. You have to face the facts sooner or later, John.”

**He looks around at her.**

**SHERLOCK: Stop smiling.**

**MARY (indignantly): It’s my wedding day!**

**Rolling his eyes, Sherlock pulls free and walks away. She takes another drink from her wine glass, then pulls a disgusted face at the taste.**

“Stop drinking it already if it's so bad!” Sally threw her hands up in the air.

*****

**Elsewhere, the camera pans across the interior of a grand building and into a room with a large old painting on the wall and a suit of armour standing nearby. A steady regular thumping sound can be heard. The camera pans around the corner and reveals a running machine. Mycroft – dressed in gym clothes – is jogging on the machine. After a while he switches it off and jumps off, breathing heavily. He walks a few paces away, then stops and lifts his top to examine his stomach, patting it reflectively and looking quite pleased with himself. On a nearby table, his phone rings. He picks it up and answers.**

Mycroft didn’t allow a blush to reach his face – he absolutely refused to let people know that he was trying to lose weight.

“Good for you,” he heard instead from John.

“Yeah. Good on ya,” Lestrade agreed, giving him a firm nod.

He glanced away.

**MYCROFT (breathlessly): Yes, what, Sherlock?**

**SHERLOCK (walking through the wedding reception room as he talks into his phone): Why are you out of breath?**

**MYCROFT: Filing.**

“Well, that’s the worst lie in the history of _ever_ ,” Anderson pointed out.

Mycroft scowled at him.

**SHERLOCK: Either I’ve caught you in a compromising position or you’ve been working out again. I favour the latter.**

**MYCROFT: What do you want?**

**SHERLOCK: I need your answer, Mycroft, as a matter of urgency.**

**MYCROFT: “Answer”?**

**SHERLOCK: Even at the eleventh hour it’s not too late, you know.**

**MYCROFT (sighing): Oh, Lord.**

**SHERLOCK: Cars can be ordered, private jets commandeered.**

“Is he really asking you if you’re still coming to my wedding?” John asked. “He has more faith than me.”

**MYCROFT: Today. It’s today, isn’t it? No, Sherlock, I will not be coming to the “night do,” as you so poetically put it.**

**SHERLOCK (insincerely): What a shame. Mary and John will be extremely d...**

**MYCROFT: …delighted not to have me hanging around.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, I don’t know. There should always be a spectre at the feast.**

**MYCROFT (picking up a glass of juice from the table): So, this is it, then. The big day. (He sits down in an armchair.) I suppose I’ll be seeing a lot more of you from now on.**

**SHERLOCK: What do you mean?**

**MYCROFT: Just like old times.**

**SHERLOCK: No, I don’t understand.**

**MYCROFT: Well, it’s the end of an era, isn’t it? John and Mary – domestic bliss.**

“Did Mycroft just quote Mrs. Hudson? Twice?” Sally asked, staring at the man in question incredulously.

Lestrade barked out a laugh. “I think he just did.”

**SHERLOCK: No, no, no – I prefer to think of it as the beginning of a new chapter.**

**Mycroft simply smiles.**

**SHERLOCK: What?**

**MYCROFT: Nothing!**

**SHERLOCK: I know that silence. What?**

**MYCROFT: Well, I’d better let you get back to it. You have a big speech or something, don’t you?**

**SHERLOCK (still demanding an answer to his previous question): What?**

**MYCROFT: Cake, karaoke…mingling.**

**SHERLOCK (angrily): Mycroft!**

**MYCROFT: This is what people do, Sherlock – they get married. I warned you: don’t get involved.**

**SHERLOCK: Involved? I’m not involved.**

**MYCROFT (disbelievingly): No.**

**SHERLOCK: John asked me to be his best man. How could I say no?**

**MYCROFT (insincerely): Absolutely!**

**SHERLOCK: I’m not involved!**

“No,” Lestrade agreed, nodding solemnly. “No, not involved. Just jealous.” He snuck in a sly grin at the end.

**MYCROFT (insincerely): I believe you! Really, I do! Have a lovely day and do give the happy couple my best.**

**SHERLOCK: I will.**

**He lowers the phone, about to switch it off when Mycroft speaks again. Sherlock lifts the phone to his ear once more.**

**MYCROFT: Oh, by the way, Sherlock – do you remember Redbeard?**

Mycroft tensed.

Anderson’s head snapped up at the prospect of learning something about Sherlock’s past. “Redbeard? Who’s Redbeard?”

John frowned. “I dunno, but Mycroft told me once that Sherlock wanted to be a pirate.”

“An imaginary friend, perhaps?” Lestrade suggested. He would’ve thought a childhood friend, but from what Sherlock had said in the previous “episodes” – as Anderson liked to call them – they hadn’t been introduced to other children until far later in life.

Mycroft just stayed silent, keeping his lips sealed and his jaw locked.

**Sherlock’s jaw tightens.**

**SHERLOCK: I’m not a child anymore, Mycroft.**

**MYCROFT: No, of course, you’re not. Enjoy not getting involved, Sherlock.**

**Sherlock hangs up. He looks down for a moment, then walks across the room towards the top table.**

*****

**Fast-forward – literally – through the wedding meal as the guests eat their way through the three courses and drink lots of champagne, and then the Master of Ceremonies taps a spoon against a champagne glass to get everyone’s attention.**

**MASTER OF CEREMONIES: Pray silence for the best man.**

“Oh, I’ll pray alright,” Sally mumbled jokingly with an amused grin.

For once, Lestrade agreed with her. He was very much looking forward to watching Sherlock say his speech.

**The guests applaud and cheer as Sherlock rises to his feet at the top table. John and Mary are sitting to his right, Janine to his left. He buttons his jacket, looking a little uncomfortable.**

**SHERLOCK: Ladies and gentlemen, family and friends…and…erm…others.**

“This sounds promising,” John whispered aside to Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and Molly.

**He stops and blinks. There’s an awkward pause.**

**SHERLOCK: Er… w...**

**John narrows his eyes and looks up at him.**

**SHERLOCK: A-a-also…**

**Mary lifts a thumb to her mouth, rubbing it on her top lip. Mrs. Hudson looks nervous and Greg sits back a little, looking concerned.**

*****

**FLASHBACK. Greg walks into Molly’s lab at Bart’s.**

**MOLLY: Greg.**

**LESTRADE: Molly.**

**MOLLY (turning to him): I just had a thought.**

**She is holding a large metal bowl in front of her. He looks into it.**

**LESTRADE: Is that a brain?**

“What?” Anderson shouted.

Everyone leaned in closer as if trying to see, but the angle of the scene didn’t allow for it.

**MOLLY: What if John asks Sherlock to be his best man?**

**LESTRADE: Well, he will, won’t he? He’s bound to.**

**MOLLY: Exactly.**

**LESTRADE: So?**

**MOLLY: So he’ll have to make a speech in front of people.**

“Has he never done that before?” Anderson asked. He assumed that Sherlock would be great at speaking in front of people. Then again, after the man’s death and supposed resurrection, he could find no flaws in him. The very thought of a great man such as Sherlock would be bad at public speaking was appalling to him.

**Greg gazes into the distance as if realizing the ramifications of this for the first time.**

**MOLLY: There’ll be actual people there, actually listening.**

**LESTRADE (tentatively): Well, what’s the worst that could happen?**

**MOLLY: Helen Louise probably wondered the same.**

“Who’s Helen Louise?” Sally turned to Molly, who just shrugged.

“The brain?”

**LESTRADE: Helen Louise?**

**Molly pointedly looks down at the brain in her bowl.**

Sally shuddered.

*****

**FLASHBACK. Mrs. Hudson, sitting in her kitchen, answers the phone.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Oh, hello, dear.**

**Molly is on the other end of the line, again in her lab. She is wearing safety goggles and there is a blood spatter on her lab coat. She is holding an electric bone saw in the blood-covered glove on her other hand.**

“Okay, you’re either _really_ good at your job, or _really_ careless,” Sally said pointedly to Molly.

“You’re not much better, from what I’ve seen of you,” Molly snapped back. There was a split second when her expression changed to that of instant regret, but she hid it, standing by her words.

**MOLLY (into phone): I was just thinking. If-if John does ask Sherlock ...**

**MRS. HUDSON: What, the speech, dear? No, it’ll be fine.**

**MOLLY: It-it’s not just the speech, though, is it?**

“What else could there be?” Anderson pondered aloud. He couldn’t possibly think of what else Sherlock would have to do as best man. What could Molly possibly be worried about?

*****

**Shortly afterwards, John lets himself in the front door of 221 and walks towards the stairs. High-pitched hysterical noises are coming through the open door of 221A. As the noises continue, punctuated with an occasional squeal of, “Oh, dear!” and “Oh, brilliant!” John goes into her flat and looks into the kitchen in concern.**

“Oh my goodness! Mrs. Hudson, are you alright?” John turned to the woman, who giggled.

“I’m just laughing, dear,” she assured him.

“ _That’s_ you laughing?” Sally was astounded. Then, she coughed, muttering under her breath, “I’d hate to hear you dying…”

**JOHN: Mrs. Hudson?**

**She waves to him from where she is sitting at the table, laughing hysterically.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Oh, hello, darling! (She continues to giggle.)**

**JOHN: You all right?**

**She covers her mouth, laughing.**

**JOHN: I was – I was coming to see Sherlock, and I thought you were…**

**MRS. HUDSON (giggling): Go!**

**JOHN: ... possibly dying. (He grins at the sight of her mirth.)**

**MRS. HUDSON: Oh, sorry!**

**She continues laughing.**

**JOHN: What’s wrong?**

**MRS. HUDSON: The-the telegrams!**

Anderson’s eyes widened in realization, and he gasped. “Oh!”

**She giggles.**

**JOHN (grinning but clearly with no idea what she means): Sorry, what?**

**MRS. HUDSON (giggling): Oh, sorry, dear!**

**Standing up, she pats his arm and walks away, still shrieking with laughter. John looks bemused.**

*****

**THE PRESENT. John closes his eyes in realization.**

**JOHN (quietly): Telegrams.**

**Mary looks at him and Sherlock jolts out of his blankness.**

**SHERLOCK: Right, um…**

**He pats his pockets, then seems to realize that the telegrams are in a pile in front of him. John clears his throat. Sherlock does likewise and looks at the guests, swallowing hard.**

**SHERLOCK: First things first. Telegrams.**

**He picks up the cards and shows them to the guests.**

**SHERLOCK (quick fire): Well, they’re not actually telegrams. We just call them telegrams. I don’t know why. Wedding tradition.**

**He lifts the first card.**

**SHERLOCK (sarcastically): …because we don’t have enough of that already, apparently.**

“Sherlock,” Mrs. Hudson quietly chided the man on screen. “Mind your manners.”

**John narrows his eyes a little.**

**SHERLOCK (reading): “To Mr. and Mrs. Watson. So sorry I’m unable to be with you on your special day. Good luck and best wishes, Mike Stamford.”**

“He must not have gone out of spite,” Anderson theorized quietly.

John turned to him, utterly baffled. “What? Why?”

“All this trouble he goes to finding you a boyfriend, and you go and marry a woman! If it were me, I wouldn’t go out of spite, too.”

John just closed his eyes with yet another sigh. He should’ve had that sigh patented as “how many times do I have to say I’m not gay (even though I’m probably gay)?”.

**JOHN: Ah, Mike.**

**MARY: Ahh!**

**SHERLOCK (reading the next card): “To John and Mary. All good wishes for your special day. With love and many big… (he breaks off, then continues slowly) …big squishy cuddles, from Stella and Ted.”**

**He looks up, blinking rapidly. Greg sniggers and Molly smiles.**

**SHERLOCK (reading the next card): “Mary – lots of love…”**

**He breathes out an almost silent ‘Oh.’ John and Mary look up at him.**

**JOHN: Yeah?**

**SHERLOCK (disparagingly): “…poppet…”**

“I feel like these wedding telegrams are just turning into an excuse to make Sherlock say funny words that you’d never hear from Sherlock,” Molly said from behind her hand. She couldn’t contain her giggles.

**He loudly sounds the ‘t’ at the end of the word. John and Mary giggle.**

**SHERLOCK: “... Oodles of love and heaps of good wishes from CAM.”**

**Mary’s smile fades. Sherlock continues reading the message.**

**SHERLOCK: “Wish your family could have seen this.”**

**John looks around and sees Mary’s face. He reaches out and takes her hand.**

**JOHN: Hey. Hmm?**

**She smiles reassuringly at him.**

**SHERLOCK (looking at the next card): Um, “special day” ... (he drops the card onto the table and looks at the next one) ... “very special day” ... (he drops that one, then continues working rapidly through the next ones) ... “love” ... “love” ... “love” ... “love” ... “lo...”; bit of a theme – you get the general gist. People are basically fond.**

**There’s some laughter from the guests.**

**SHERLOCK (looking at them): John Watson. (He gestures towards John.) My friend, John Watson. (He looks down for a moment, then looks at John.) John.**

**John smiles at him. Sherlock turns to his audience again.**

**SHERLOCK: When John first broached the subject of being best man, I was confused.**

Lestrade arched his eyebrows. “Not often does Sherlock admit to being confused. Good for you, John.” He patted John on the back, which the doctor just sat there, probably as confused as Sherlock was when John popped the question.

*****

**FLASHBACK. John trots up the stairs to 221B.**

**JOHN: Sherlock?**

**SHERLOCK (from the kitchen): What was that noise downstairs?**

“Wait,” Anderson mumbled “So all that stuff with Molly and the telegrams was before John even asked?” He began plotting to himself.

**John turns into the kitchen. Sherlock is standing at the table in his camel coloured dressing gown. Wearing safety glasses, he is holding an eyeball with a large pair of tweezers and is holding a lit blowtorch near to the optic nerve dangling behind it.**

**JOHN: Er, it was Mrs. Hudson laughing.**

**SHERLOCK: Sounded like she was torturing an owl.**

Mrs. Hudson frowned a little – just a little.

**JOHN: Yeah. Well, it was laughter.**

**SHERLOCK: Could have been both.**

Lestrade eyed Mrs. Hudson warily. “I doubt she’d be torturing an owl for fun, Sherlock. Isn’t that right, Mrs. Hudson?”

“Of course, dear.”

**JOHN (looking at what he’s doing): Busy?**

**Sherlock sighs heavily.**

**SHERLOCK: Just occupying myself. (He lifts his head and looks dramatically towards the ceiling.) Sometimes, it’s so-o-o hard not smoking.**

**The eyeball slips out of the tweezers and drops with a splash into a mug on the table. Sherlock looks down at it.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh.**

**JOHN: Mm-hmm. Mind if I interrupt?**

**SHERLOCK (putting down the tweezers and gesturing to the chair at the end of the table): Er, be my guest.**

**He switches off the blowtorch and puts it down while John walks over and pulls back the chair from the table. Sherlock picks up the mug and offers it to him.**

**SHERLOCK: Tea?**

Sally nearly gagged. “Didn’t he just drop an eyeball in there?”

**JOHN: Er ...**

**He shakes one hand to decline the offer. Sherlock puts down the mug and takes off his glasses.**

**JOHN (sitting down): So. The big question.**

**SHERLOCK (turning to face him): Mm-hm.**

**JOHN (folding his hands and putting them onto the table in front of him): The best man.**

**SHERLOCK: The best man?**

**JOHN: What do you think?**

**SHERLOCK (instantly): Billy Kincaid.**

Molly winced, though smiling. “Oh, poor Sherlock. I don’t think he understands.” She looked down at where her hands were folded in her lap.

**JOHN: Sorry, what?**

**SHERLOCK (quick fire): Billy Kincaid, the Camden Garrotter. Best man I ever knew. Vast contributions to charity, never disclosed.**

**John frowns.**

**SHERLOCK (quick fire): Personally managed to save three hospitals from closure and ran the best and safest children’s homes in north England.**

**John tiredly rubs his fingers over his eyes.**

**SHERLOCK (grimacing briefly): Yes, every now and again there’d be some garrottings, but stacking up the lives saved against the garrottings, on balance I’d say…**

**JOHN (interrupting): For my wedding! For me. I need a best man.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, right.**

**JOHN: Maybe not a garrotter.**

**SHERLOCK: Gavin?**

Lestrade groaned, already knowing that it was him. Who else would Sherlock be talking about?

**JOHN: Who?**

**SHERLOCK: Gavin Lestrade? He’s a man, and good at it.**

“Really? Is that what he thinks are the qualifications for a best man? For him to be a man and good at being a man?” Sally was shaking her head, completely dumbstruck. She laughed, running a hand through her dark, messy curls.

**JOHN: It’s Greg. And he’s not my best friend.**

“Don’t worry about it, John; he’s never going to get it,” Lestrade said. “I think at this point it’s just a game for him, trying to figure out how many names he can come up with.

**SHERLOCK: Oh, Mike Stamford, I see. Well, he’s nice, um, though I’m not sure how well he’d cope with all…**

**JOHN (interrupting): No, Mike’s great, but he’s not my best friend.**

**Sherlock looks thoughtfully at him as if he can’t think of another friend to suggest.**

**JOHN: Look, Sherlock, this is the biggest and most important day of my life.**

**SHERLOCK (dubiously, pulling a face): Well…**

**JOHN: No, it is! It is, and I want to be up there with the two people that I love and care about most in the world.**

“Aww!” Mrs. Hudson squealed. She cooed, turning to John. “That’s so sweet, John!”

**SHERLOCK: Yes.**

**John nods. Clearly oblivious, Sherlock waits for him to tell him who these people are.**

Sally threw her head back, raising her hands to rub her temples like she just couldn’t believe what was going on. “Oh, my God! How is he so smart yet still so stupid?”

**JOHN: So, Mary Morstan…**

**SHERLOCK: Yes.**

**JOHN (sighing tightly): …and…**

**He looks up at Sherlock, who is still patiently waiting for further information. Eventually, John pulls in a long breath.**

**JOHN: …you.**

**Sherlock blinks rapidly several times but otherwise doesn’t move or react.**

The room burst into laughter. Sherlock absolutely did not know how to react to John asking him to be best man! It was utterly hilarious! John just sighed, but Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and Molly couldn’t keep their laughter to themselves, while Mycroft sat grinning at his brother’s vacant expression and Anderson and Sally just sat to the side, wondering whether it was alright to laugh or just sit there awkwardly until the others were done.

Then, a thought struck Lestrade. He stopped laughing. Sherlock probably never expected to be someone’s best friend. He may not be socially inclined, but he wasn’t to blind to realize that people didn’t typically like him for his deductions. That self-esteem issue came into light even before their first case, when he was so confused at John’s exclamations of amazement.

Poor Sherlock. No wonder he was baffled. He vowed that when they finished here and got back to their lives, he would make Sherlock feel more appreciated. Sure, he had a tough exterior, but he always meant well, and he couldn’t control his deductions, even though he could control his actions. That is if he didn’t completely forget everything – which he probably would. He just hoped that he’d keep this feeling, right now, that he’d keep it so he could make things better.

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	57. 3x2 Part 2 The Sign of Three

Protect Sherlock. That was what everyone wanted to do after Lestrade had shared his hypothesis with them. Even Donovan, though she seemed less than thrilled to be enrolled in the “Sherlock Protection Squad”. That was fine. They didn’t particularly want her there either.

_“This next part made me cry. It made all of you cry, too. At least those of you who actually showed up for the wedding – Mycroft.”_

Mycroft scowled, not allowing himself to flush, but still peeved that he was being called out by a written message.

**RECEPTION.**

**SHERLOCK: I confess, at first, I didn’t realize he was asking me. When finally I understood, I expressed to him that I was both flattered and…surprised.**

*****

**FLASHBACK. Sherlock has frozen solid, staring blankly in John’s direction but not actually looking at him. John taps his foot patiently.**

“Um…I’m assuming that this is _before_ he realized it,” Anderson mumbled.

*****

**RECEPTION.**

**SHERLOCK: I explained to him that I’d never expected this request and I was a little daunted in the face of it.**

*****

**FLASHBACK. Sherlock is still motionless.**

**JOHN: Sherlock.**

**Sherlock doesn’t react.**

“You’re probably wrong again, Anderson. This seems like Sherlock just didn’t react at all,” Lestrade said.

Anderson pouted.

*****

**RECEPTION.**

**SHERLOCK: I nonetheless promised that I would do my very best to accomplish a task which was – for me – as demanding and difficult as any I had ever contemplated. Additionally, I thanked him for the trust he’d placed in me…**

**John frowns as if unable to remember this conversation.**

“See? Not even John can remember any of this happening, so he’s probably lying to appease the crowd,” Sally accused.

“Since when has Sherlock ever done _anything_ to appease a crowd of people?” Molly challenged, crossing her arms.

Of course, Sally didn’t have an answer for her. Her mouth gaped open in what seemed to be an attempt at speech, but nothing came out.

**SHERLOCK: …and indicated that I was, in some ways, very close to being…moved by it.**

*****

**FLASHBACK. Sherlock is still fixed in place, staring sightlessly ahead of him. The silence drags on for long seconds.**

**JOHN: That’s getting a bit scary now.**

“You know, it kind of is,” Lestrade agreed with a chuckle. He leaned back, folding his arms together in front of him in his usual stance.

*****

**RECEPTION.**

**SHERLOCK: It later transpired that I had said none of this out loud.**

**John laughs, and some of the guests join in.**

John laughed loudly, as did Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and Molly. Anderson and Sally were both just too confused or too reluctant to laugh, but even Mycroft allowed himself to crack a smile. His little brother sure was an amusing subject.

*****

**FLASHBACK. Sherlock’s brain finally begins to reboot, and he takes a breath. He swallows and narrows his eyes slightly as he refocuses and looks at John.**

**SHERLOCK: So, in fact…**

**He thinks for a moment.**

**SHERLOCK: You-you mean…**

**JOHN: Yes.**

**SHERLOCK: I’m your…**

**John nods.**

**SHERLOCK: …best…**

**JOHN: …man.**

**SHERLOCK (almost simultaneously): …friend?**

That single word tugged at John's heartstrings. Of course he was! How could he _not_ be? How could he _not_ realize that? His whole body froze suddenly, much like Sherlock’s had as an icy wash of realization slithered down his spine. Had he not expressed that enough to Sherlock during their time together?

Meanwhile, Lestrade had a pit of what he could only describe as “expected dread” settling in his gut. He’d realized it just minutes before, the moment Sherlock froze up in response to John’s offer. Sherlock never expected to be anyone’s best friend. The DI’s heart went out to him; it broke at the vulnerable tone of the consulting detective’s voice. That pain just furthered his resolve to make the detective feel as welcome and loved as possible when they returned to their lives. Surely their captor could spare him that much, right?

**JOHN: Yeah, ’course you are. ’Course you’re my best friend.**

**He smiles. Without looking down, Sherlock absently picks up the mug from the table and raises it towards his mouth. John watches with interest while he takes a long slurping drink and then swallows.**

Sally recoiled. “Gross!”

“What?” Anderson wondered.

“Didn't that mug have an eyeball in it? A _human_ eyeball?”

Anderson’s eyes widened. “It did, didn’t it?” He turned his wide-eyed stare to Sherlock, who was lowering his mug.

**JOHN: Well, how was that?**

**Sherlock licks his lips, thinks about it for a moment, then nods.**

**SHERLOCK: Surprisingly okay.**

**Inside the mug, the eyeball pops up to the surface of the tea.**

Everyone in the room shuddered.

**JOHN: So you’ll have to make a speech, of course.**

**Sherlock goes offline again for a moment, then looks at John.**

“I think he’s doing very well so far,” Mrs. Hudson said. She smiled proudly.

Molly nodded. “Aside from the awkward bit at the beginning, he definitely has a way with words,” she agreed.

*****

**RECEPTION. Sherlock reaches into his jacket pocket, clearing his throat, and takes out a handful of cue cards, looking at each one and putting it onto the table as he talks to himself.**

**SHERLOCK: Done that. ... Done that ... Done that bit ... Done that bit ... Done that bit. … Hmm…**

**He looks up at the guests again, then turns to John.**

**SHERLOCK: I’m afraid, John, I can’t congratulate you.**

**Mary looks surprised and John looks up at him.**

“Oh, come on, Sherlock! You were doing so well until you decided to read your stupid cue cards!”

**SHERLOCK (looking at the guests): All emotions, and in particular love, stand opposed to the pure, cold reason I hold above all things. A wedding is, in my considered opinion, nothing short of a celebration of all that is false and specious and irrational and sentimental in this ailing and morally compromised world.**

**The guests begin to look uncomfortable and some of them start murmuring quietly to each other. Greg and Molly look at Sherlock in horror.**

“Where is he even going with this?” Molly pondered aloud. Though the words matched perfectly with what Sherlock would _most likely_ say at a wedding, she couldn’t get the pre-video message out of her head. His speech made their captor cry? Made _them_ cry? Why? Typically, crying at a wedding shed tears of happiness, but it would very well be the other way ‘round if Sherlock was involved.

**SHERLOCK: Today we honour the death-watch beetle that is the doom of our society and, in time – one feels certain – our entire species.**

**The guests stare at him. Sherlock pauses for a moment.**

**SHERLOCK: But anyway… (he looks down at his cards) …let’s talk about John.**

**JOHN (quietly): Please.**

“Yes. Please get away from your God-awful self-serving view on life meant to stamp out other people’s joy,” Sally growled under her breath.

**SHERLOCK (looking up again): If I burden myself with a little helpmate during my adventures, it is not out of sentiment or caprice – it is that he has many fine qualities of his own that he has overlooked in his obsession with me.**

**Greg laughs silently.**

He patted John on the shoulder as well, unable to contain a slight wheeze.

**SHERLOCK: Indeed, any reputation I have for mental acuity and sharpness comes, in truth, from the extraordinary contrast John so selflessly provides.**

Anderson rolled his eyes. “Now he’s just roasting you on your wedding day.”

“That’s what any best man does, isn’t it? Embarrass his best friend in front of all their friends and family?” Lestrade laughed outright this time.

**John sighs heavily, while Mary frowns.**

**SHERLOCK: It is a fact, I believe, that brides tend to favour exceptionally plain bridesmaids for their big day. There is a certain analogy there, I feel.**

**Janine stares up at him and the other two bridesmaids look uncomfortable.**

**SHERLOCK (moving on to his next card): …and contrast is, after all, God’s own plan to enhance the beauty of his creation…**

**The vicar smiles.**

**SHERLOCK: …or it would be if God were not a ludicrous fantasy designed to provide a career opportunity for the family idiot.**

**Mary face-palms, and John is half-hiding behind his clasped hands. The vicar looks at Sherlock grimly, and more guests are muttering amongst themselves. Sherlock pauses for a moment.**

**SHERLOCK: The point I’m trying to make is that I am the most unpleasant, rude, ignorant, and all-around obnoxious arsehole that anyone could possibly have the misfortune to meet.**

Everyone in the room froze, obviously not expecting the sudden turn his speech took. Even Mycroft’s eyes widened ever so slightly; his interest was piqued. Where was his brother going with this?

**He looks at the vicar.**

**SHERLOCK: I am dismissive of the virtuous…**

**He turns to Janine.**

**SHERLOCK: …unaware of the beautiful…**

**He turns towards Mary and John.**

**SHERLOCK: …and uncomprehending in the face of the happy. So if I didn’t understand I was being asked to be best man, it is because I never expected to be anybody’s best friend.**

Lestrade heaved a sigh.

**The guests have fallen silent again and are listening intently. Molly and Greg exchange a long glance.**

**SHERLOCK: Certainly not the best friend of the bravest and kindest and wisest human being I have ever had the good fortune of knowing.**

**Mary smiles proudly at her husband. Several of the guests make appreciative “aww” sounds.**

**SHERLOCK: John, I am a ridiculous man…**

**John smiles and nods his agreement.**

**SHERLOCK: …redeemed only by the warmth and constancy of your friendship. But, as I’m apparently your best friend, I cannot congratulate you on your choice of companion.**

**He looks down for a moment, then smiles a little.**

**SHERLOCK: Actually, now I can.**

“That’s so sweet!” Molly cried happily. She clasped her hands together in front of her face, feeling a fresh wave of love and admiration for that man rage up within her. How could she have ever thought that she moved on? It was moments like this that redeemed him from his usual obnoxious and abrasive self – moments like this that she loved about him, for he truly had a way with words.

**The guests murmur again, but now their tone is much more approving. John and Mary smile.**

**SHERLOCK: Mary, when I say you deserve this man, it is the highest compliment of which I am capable. John, you have endured war, and injury, and tragic loss… (he leans closer to John) …so sorry again about that last one… (he straightens up again) …so know this: today you sit between the woman you have made your wife and the man you have saved – in short, the two people who love you most in all this world. And I know I speak for Mary as well when I say we will never let you down, and we have a lifetime ahead to prove that.**

**Mrs. Hudson whimpers and holds a tissue to her nose. Molly wipes tears from her eyes with her serviette. Other guests – even some of the men – sniffle. John turns to Mary and whispers to her.**

A box of tissues magically appeared in the room, which Mrs. Hudson immediately reached for, dabbing at her eyes.

**JOHN: If I try and hug him, stop me.**

**MARY: Certainly not.**

**She pats his arm. Sherlock moves on to his next card.**

**SHERLOCK: Ah, yes. Now on to some funny stories about John…**

**He trails off as he looks up and sees so many of the guests crying.**

**SHERLOCK (quick fire): What’s wrong? What happened? Why are you all doing that? John?**

Lestrade was laughing through his tears. “Oh, you bloody idiot…” he muttered.

“You can’t help but appreciate that he turns to John immediately to find out what he’s done this time,” Anderson commented quietly.

**Molly smiles proudly at him.**

**MRS. HUDSON (tearfully): Oh, Sherlock!**

**Sherlock looks down at John.**

**SHERLOCK: Did I do it wrong?**

**JOHN (standing up): No, you didn’t. Come here.**

**He pulls him into a tight hug. The guests break into applause.**

The viewers were not safe from the oncoming, compelling force, and broke into applause as well.

Sally scowled at them. “What the hell are you doing?” She rolled her eyes. “Idiots…” Turning away, she quickly scrubbed at her eyes. She refused to let any tears fall.

**SHERLOCK: I haven’t finished yet.**

**JOHN: Yeah, I know, I know.**

**SHERLOCK (holding up his next card and talking over the applause as John releases him): So, on to some funny stories…**

**JOHN: Can you – can you wait ’til I sit down?**

**Sherlock nods as the applause continues. John sits down, clearing his throat, and the applause finally fades.**

**SHERLOCK: So, on to some funny stories about John.**

**John chuckles. Sherlock looks at the guests.**

**SHERLOCK: If you could all just cheer up a bit, that would…**

**The guests laugh.**

**SHERLOCK: …be better. On we go. So, for funny stories… (he reaches into his pocket and takes out his phone) …one has to look no further than John’s blog.**

**He holds up the phone. John laughs and turns to speak quietly to Mary.**

**JOHN: Here we go.**

**SHERLOCK: The record of our time together. Of course, he does tend to romanticize things a bit, but then, you know… (he looks down at John and Mary and half-winks at them) …he’s a romantic. We’ve tackled some strange cases: The Hollow Client…**

*****

**FLASHBACK. John and Sherlock walk up the stairs and into the living room of 221B, then stop dead at the sight which greets them. In John’s chair which is facing towards the door is a suit, laid out exactly as it would appear if there was actually anyone inside it and sitting in the chair. There is even a pair of shoes at the bottom of the trousers.**

“That wasn’t just you, doing the laundry, was it Mrs. Hudson?” Lestrade whispered.

The woman laughed, but gave him no answer, leaving the DI baffled. It probably was, but on the other hand, Sherlock would’ve realized that. Then…what was it? He’d have noticed if it were just a prank, too, like Anderson’ sore attempt earlier with Jack the Ripper. He couldn’t dwell on it for long because Sherlock had already continued.

*****

**SHERLOCK: …the Poison Giant…**

*****

**FLASHBACK. A man is running across a rooftop. As he comes into full view, we see that he is a person of short stature. He stops and raises a blowpipe to his lips.**

Sally scoffed. “ _That_ ’s the giant? He’s a midget!”

“He’s only a midget if he’s under one and a half metres.”

“Doesn’t matter. You two are police officers and should know that some terms are offensive to people, whether they classify as it or not!” Lestrade repelled the urge to knock their heads together.

“Technically, he doesn’t work for New Scotland Yard anymore…” Sally mumbled, spinning her eyes toward Anderson. Her mouth snapped shut with one look from Lestrade.

**SHERLOCK (offscreen): Get down, John!**

**The man blows into the pipe and on the other side of the roof Sherlock and John duck down to avoid the dart which flies out of it. They immediately jump up again and run on in pursuit of the man.**

*****

**SHERLOCK: We’ve had some frustrating cases…**

*****

**FLASHBACK. In 221B John sits down at the dining table with a mug of tea. He looks across to Sherlock sitting in his chair, who is running his finger across his top lip and frowning down thoughtfully at a matchbox held in his other hand.**

**JOHN: What is that?**

**Sherlock looks at him.**

**SHERLOCK: A French decathlete found completely out of his mind, surrounded by one thousand, eight hundred and twelve matchboxes – all empty except this one.**

**JOHN: And what’s in that one?**

**SHERLOCK (looking at the matchbox): The inexplicable.**

**He slowly pushes open the matchbox. Whatever is inside glows brightly, illuminating Sherlock’s face. He grins with delight.**

Anderson gasped, horrified as the shot ended. “What? Come on!” he cried desperately. He threw himself toward the screen, scratching at it as if it would bring back that case. “I _need_ to know what was in that matchbox!” he howled.

Sally cuffed him around the ear again, pulling him away from the screen and back to his seat. The others were interested, too, but they were much more subtle about it. “You’ll get over it,” she said.

*****

**SHERLOCK (rolling his eyes): ... ‘touching’ cases…**

*****

**FLASHBACK. John is standing at the window of 221B looking down into the street.**

**JOHN: She’s going to ring the doorbell.**

**He’s looking at a young woman who is hovering outside Speedy’s and looking towards 221’s front door. She stops and then turns around.**

**JOHN: Oh, no. She’s changed her mind.**

**The woman walks away a few paces, then stops and turns around again.**

**JOHN: No, she’s gonna do it... No, she’s leaving. She’s leaving. ... Oh, she’s coming back.**

Sally gave John a long, hard stare. “Is that a favourite pastime of yours, John? Watching clients from your window to see if they’re going to ring the bell or not?”

“Maybe…”

**Sherlock is sprawled in his chair with his head raised towards the ceiling. His eyes are closed.**

**SHERLOCK: She’s a client. She’s boring. I’ve seen those symptoms before.**

**JOHN: Hmm?**

**SHERLOCK: Oscillation on the pavement always means there’s a love affair.**

“Or maybe she’s just worried that Sherlock’s going to bring up her darkest secrets,” Sally muttered.

“Oh, shut up, Donovan! He only does it for criminals and people he doesn’t like!”

“Of course, Anderson.” She sighed. “And people he wants to blackmail, and random men at a wedding, and…” she kept listing, but no one else was listening. At least she wasn’t _directly_ insulting Sherlock anymore.

*****

**SHERLOCK: …and of course I have to mention the elephant in the room.**

*****

**FLASHBACK. The boys stand in the doorway of what looks like a fairly ordinary room somewhere. They stare up wide-eyed at what they can see inside. Sherlock opens his mouth. Offscreen, an elephant trumpets loudly. Sherlock closes his mouth again.**

“You _literally_ had an elephant?” Anderson’s eyebrows looked ready to make a grand escape off his forehead.

“Um…I guess. This probably happened in the months between our previous big case and the wedding,” John replied.

“What I’m wondering,” Lestrade began, “is if he’s actually describing these cases, or he’s just mentioning them because, without these flashbacks, I would be immensely confused.”

“He probably doesn’t have to describe the cases because anyone who matters would have read them on the blog already,” Molly said.

“ _Anyone who matters_. Yes, of course, Molly.” Sally murmured, rolling her eyes.

*****

**SHERLOCK: But we want something…very particular for this special day, don’t we?**

**He looks down at his phone, then raises his eyes again.**

**SHERLOCK: The Bloody Guardsman.**

“Oh, dear. That doesn’t sound like the best case for a wedding, Sherlock,” Mrs. Hudson fretted.

*****

**FLASHBACK. John’s blog entry entitled “The Bloody Guardsman” drifts across the screen for a moment, then fades to a view of Sherlock standing in the living room of 221B looking at his information wall behind the sofa. He turns to where Mary is sitting at the dining table and John is sitting in his armchair and looking at his phone.**

**SHERLOCK: Need to work on your half of the church, Mary. Looking a bit thin.**

**MARY (smiling): Ah, orphan’s lot. Friends – that’s all I have. Lots of friends.**

**We get a glimpse of the paperwork on the wall and realize that Sherlock is organizing the hell out of the wedding. There is a list of things that need to be done, all of them ticked off, and the wall is divided into areas which are headed, “Transport,” “Catering,” “Rehearsal,” “Wine,” and probably other items too. On the table beside Mary is a cardboard 3D model of the reception venue.**

**SHERLOCK: Schedule the organ music to begin at precisely 11.48.**

**MARY: But the rehearsal’s not for another two weeks. Just calm down.**

**SHERLOCK: Calm? I am calm. I’m extremely calm.**

Molly laughed. “Is Sherlock going full bridezilla on this wedding? It’s not even his!”

John just sighed. “ _Of course_ he’d pull something like that!”

“Oh, stop it! He just wants your special day to be perfect!” Mrs. Hudson chided.

**MARY: Let’s get back to the reception, come on.**

**He walks over to the table.**

**MARY (handing him an RSVP card): John’s cousin. Top table?**

**SHERLOCK (looking at the card): Hmm. Hates you. Can’t even bear to think about you.**

**MARY (looking up at him): Seriously?**

**SHERLOCK: Second class post, cheap card… (he sniffs it and grimaces) …bought at a petrol station. Look at the stamp: three attempts at licking. She’s obviously unconsciously retaining saliva.**

**MARY: Ah. (Over her shoulder to John) Let’s stick her by the bogs.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh yes.**

**He sits down. Mary leans closer to him.**

**MARY: Who else hates me?**

“Why is everyone is using Sherlock’s intelligence to their advantage! First Janet, or whatever her name is, now Mary!” Molly’s face flushed slightly with rage.

John frowned. “First of all, I think her name is Janine, and since this is a flashback, Mary did it first.”

**Instantly Sherlock hands her a sheet of paper. There’s a long list of names on it.**

**MARY: Oh great – thanks!**

**JOHN (looking at his phone): Priceless painting nicked. Looks interesting.**

**MARY (looking at the paperwork on the table): Table four…**

**SHERLOCK: Done.**

**JOHN (chuckling at something on his screen): “My husband is three people.”**

**MARY: Table five.**

**SHERLOCK (looking at a list): Major James Sholto. Who he?**

**MARY: Oh, John’s old commanding officer. I don’t think he’s coming.**

**JOHN: He’ll be there.**

**MARY: Well, he needs to RSVP, then.**

**JOHN (firmly): He’ll be there.**

**MARY: Mmm…**

**JOHN (reading from his phone): “My husband is three people.” It’s interesting. Says he has three distinct patterns of moles on his skin.**

**SHERLOCK (standing up and speaking quick fire): Identical triplets – one in half a million births. Solved it without leaving the flat. Now, serviettes.**

“How would she not know that her husband as two identical brothers?” Sally wondered.

“And where are their moles?”

Everyone looked at Anderson in affronted confusion.

“Seriously? _That’s_ what you decide to focus on?” Sally asked him.

He shrugged.

**He squats down beside the coffee table, reaches under it and pulls out a tray with two serviettes folded into different shapes. He gestures to them as he looks up at Mary.**

**SHERLOCK: Swan, or Sydney Opera House?**

**MARY: Where’d you learn to do that?**

**SHERLOCK (looking down): Many unexpected skills required in the field of criminal investigation…**

**MARY: Fibbing, Sherlock.**

**SHERLOCK: I once broke an alibi by demonstrating the exact severity of…**

**MARY: I’m not John. I can tell when you’re fibbing.**

**SHERLOCK (exasperated): Okay – I learned it on YouTube.**

A few of them were mildly surprised that Sherlock even knew what YouTube was, but then again, the fact that Mary could tell when he was lying was more interesting.

**MARY: Opera House, please.**

**She leans to one side and reaches into her trouser pocket.**

**MARY: Ooh, hang on. I’m buzzing.**

**She takes out her phone and lifts it to her ear.**

**MARY: Hello?**

**She listens for a second, then stands up.**

**MARY: Oh, hi, Beth!**

**John’s eyes lift from his phone as Mary heads for the kitchen.**

**MARY (into phone): Yeah, yeah, don’t see why not.**

**JOHN (standing up and looking at Sherlock): Actually, if that’s Beth, it’s probably for me too. Hang on.**

Anderson turned to John. “Who’s Beth?”

“Again, how am I _supposed_ to know that?” he responded, slightly aggravated.

“It’s probably just their code,” Lestrade suggested. “Otherwise she wouldn’t have announced it so loudly. Or she would’ve told John to follow her for planning.”

**He heads for the kitchen, while Sherlock sits down on the floor cross-legged and facing the coffee table.**

**In the kitchen, John smiles at Mary as he walks closer to her. They talk quietly.**

**JOHN: He knows we don’t have a friend called Beth. He’s gonna figure out that it’s code.**

“Without Sherlock here, you’re actually pretty smart, Lestrade,” Anderson complimented.

Unfortunately, the compliment only served to offend him. “I solve plenty of my own cases, thank you very much! In case you haven’t noticed, all the cases that I called Sherlock on over the past few years were either planned by Moriarty or Mycroft!” he spat, bewildered that Anderson had the gall to imply he wasn’t smart. He’d _earned_ his badge! Anderson _lost_ his!

**MARY: He’s YouTube-ing serviettes.**

**JOHN: He’s thorough.**

**MARY: He’s terrified.**

**JOHN: ’Course he’s not.**

**MARY: Right, you know when you’re scared of something, you start wishing it sooner just to get it all going? That’s what he’s doing.**

**JOHN: Why would he be scared that we’re getting married? It’s not gonna change anything – we’ll still do stuff.**

**MARY: Well, you need to prove it to him. I told you to find him a new case.**

**JOHN: I’m trying.**

**MARY: You need to run him, okay? Show him it’s still the good old days.**

**She nods encouragingly to him. He doesn’t immediately respond, and she nods again and gestures towards the living room. He looks around, then turns and slowly starts towards the door between the kitchen and the living room. Mary puts her hands on his back and shoves him forward.**

**Sherlock is still sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the coffee table, his head propped up on one hand. He briefly looks around at John, then turns back and gestures at what’s in front of him. There are at least seven serviettes folded in Sydney Opera House shapes on the table and sixteen or so more on the floor.**

**SHERLOCK: That just sort of…happened.**

That comment brightened the room. Everyone laughed.

**He looks around at John again, who frowns but then smiles. Glancing back into the kitchen for a moment, he walks towards his friend.**

**JOHN: Sherlock, um…**

**Sherlock stands up.**

**JOHN: …mate…**

**Again he frowns briefly, perhaps wondering if he is overdoing it.**

**JOHN: I-I’ve…**

**He walks over to the dining table. Sherlock glances towards the kitchen where Mary can be heard talking as if she’s on a phone call, then they both sit down at the table.**

**JOHN: I’ve smelled eighteen different perfumes; I’ve sampled… (he stops to think) ...nine different slices of cake which all tasted identical; I like the bridesmaids in purple…**

**SHERLOCK: Lilac.**

**JOHN: …lilac. Um, there are no more decisions left to make. I don’t even understand the decisions that we have made. I’m faking opinions and it’s exhausting, so please, before she comes back…**

**He glances towards the kitchen, activates his phone, clears his throat, and holds the phone across the table. The screen is showing Sherlock’s “Science of Deduction” website.**

**JOHN: …pick something.**

Lestrade nodded in approval. “That was pretty good.”

“Never thought I’d see the day when Sherlock chooses wedding planning over a case, though,” Molly added.

Lestrade let out a breathy laugh. “Heh, yeah.”

**Sherlock’s eyes flicker down to the screen a couple of times.**

**JOHN: Anything. Pick one.**

**SHERLOCK: Pick what?**

**John blinks a few times and then laughs.**

**JOHN: A case. Your Inbox is bursting. Just…get me out of here.**

**SHERLOCK (leaning closer and speaking quietly): You want to go out on a case? N-now?**

**JOHN: Please, Sherlock, for me.**

**Sherlock takes the phone.**

**SHERLOCK (quietly): Don’t you worry about a thing. I’ll get you out of this.**

Sally furrowed her eyebrows. “Does he know he’s being manipulated, or not?”

“Or maybe this was a plan between Mary and Sherlock to get _John_ out of the house!” Anderson speculated.

“What makes you think that?”

“He’s the one telling the story, isn’t he? How would he know about their conversation in the kitchen to get him out of the house?”

Lestrade frowned. “I doubt he’s telling this story at the wedding word for word. This is just a flashback of sorts for us to see what actually happened.”

**He starts to flick through messages on his website. After only a few seconds he finds something of interest.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh.**

*****

**In a military barracks inside a grand building, two members of The Queen’s Foot Guards wearing full-dress uniform and carrying their tall fur bearskin caps walk up the stairs. The voice of one of them narrates his message to Sherlock.**

**BAINBRIDGE (voiceover): “Dear Mr. Holmes, My name is Bainbridge. I’m a Private in Her Majesty’s Household Guard. I’m writing to you about a personal matter…**

**Outside Wellington Barracks in London, Bainbridge is one of two men standing on duty outside the gates in the full uniform of the Welsh Guards. A Japanese tourist stands beside him posing with her thumbs up while her male friend takes photographs.**

**BAINBRIDGE (voiceover): “…one I don’t care to bring before my superiors – it would sound so trivial – but I think someone’s stalking me.**

**Over the other side of the road, three tourists are taking photos of the view. Bainbridge – with his gaze fixed ahead of him as he must do while on duty – has a clear view of them.**

**BAINBRIDGE (voiceover): “I’m used to tourists – it’s part of the job – but this is different. Someone’s watching me.**

**The tourists over the road walk away. Standing behind them is a man with the hood of his jacket pulled up and obscuring the view of his face. He seems to be looking directly at Bainbridge but as soon as the tourists are no longer blocking him, he turns and walks away.**

**BAINBRIDGE (voiceover): “He’s taking pictures of me every day.**

**Inside the barracks, Bainbridge walks across what may be his bedroom or dorm room, which overlooks the parade ground. He is bare-chested. He idly looks out of the window and sees the usual group of tourists outside the gates, but his attention is immediately drawn to a man wearing an overcoat and with a cap on his head. The man is standing close to the fence and is initially aiming his camera in a different direction, but he then swings the camera across and up to point at Bainbridge in the window.**

“Yeah. _That’s_ not creepy at all,” Sally said sarcastically.

**BAINBRIDGE (voiceover): “Don’t want to mention it to the major, but it’s really preying on my mind.”**

**The man snaps a couple of photographs, then hurries away.**

*****

**SHERLOCK (still looking at John’s phone in 221B): Uniform fetishist. “All the nice girls like a soldier.”**

**JOHN: It’s “sailor.”**

**JOHN: And Bainbridge thinks his stalker is a bloke.**

“John, men can be uniform fetishists as well.” Lestrade gave him a meaningful look. Unfortunately, John didn’t seem to pick up on the fact that Sherlock may like the look of him in uniform.

**Sherlock looks at the phone again, perhaps reading more of Bainbridge’s email.**

**JOHN: Let’s go and investigate. Please?**

**SHERLOCK (reading): “Elite Guard.”**

**JOHN: Forty enlisted men and officers.**

**SHERLOCK: Why this particular Grenadier? Curious.**

**JOHN: Now you’re talking.**

**SHERLOCK (handing his phone back): Okay.**

**They stand up and walk towards the doors just as Mary comes back into the room with her phone at her ear.**

**MARY (into phone): ’Bye.**

**JOHN: Er, we’re just going to… I need, um, Sherlock to help me choose some, er, socks.**

**SHERLOCK (simultaneously): …ties.**

**MARY (looking from one to the other): Why don’t we go with socks?**

“She saw right through them, didn’t she?” Molly was somewhat amused by the whole situation. She couldn’t wait to meet Mary in real life.

**JOHN: Yeah.**

**MARY: I mean, you’ve got to get the right ones.**

**JOHN: Exactly – to go with my…**

**SHERLOCK: …tie.**

**JOHN (simultaneously): …outfit.**

**MARY (looking at John): That’ll take a while, right?**

**John points towards the kitchen.**

**JOHN: My coat in there?**

**MARY: Yes!**

**He walks into the kitchen and Mary and Sherlock walk closer together.**

**SHERLOCK (quietly): Just going to take him out for a bit – run him.**

**MARY: I know.**

**Sherlock smiles at her.**

**MARY (gesturing happily towards him): You said you’d find him a case!**

**SHERLOCK: Mm.**

**JOHN (from the kitchen doorway): Come on, Sherlock.**

**SHERLOCK: Coming.**

**He turns and goes to the living room door, then turns back to face Mary. Unseen by each other, Sherlock does a double thumbs-up at her and gives her an “only you and I know about what we’re doing here” grin, while from the kitchen John circles his thumb and forefinger at her and winks much the same message. She holds up her thumbs to both of them and grins widely. The boys both turn and head for the stairs. Going out of the front door, Sherlock finishes putting his coat on and calls out to an approaching cab.**

“She totally just planned that for both of them to get out of the house and manipulated them into doing it for each other,” Sally said.

Mrs. Hudson nodded affirmatively. “I like her.”

**SHERLOCK: Taxi!**

*****

**There are a few interspersed scenes of a group of Guards marching back to the barracks, and Sherlock and John making their way to the barracks themselves. The Guards arrive back and are in the parade ground marching into position preparing to be dismissed.**

**PARADE SERGEANT: Company, halt! … Right turn!**

**Our boys are at the entrance to the barracks. John has given his wallet containing his military ID card to the duty sergeant.**

**JOHN: We’re here to see Private Stephen Bainbridge.**

**DUTY SERGEANT: He’s on duty right now, sir… (he hands the wallet back) …but I’ll certainly let him know when he’s free.**

**SHERLOCK: And when will that be?**

**DUTY SERGEANT: Another hour.**

*****

**Bainbridge, with another Foot Guard, is on duty outside the gates of the barracks. He stands fixed in position and tourists take photographs. Over the other side of the road and a few yards back from the pavement, Sherlock and John are sitting on a bench in the park looking towards the gates.**

**SHERLOCK: Do you think they give them classes?**

**JOHN: Classes?**

**SHERLOCK: How to resist the temptation to scratch their behinds?**

**JOHN: Afferent neurons in the peripheral nervous system.**

**Sherlock turns his head slightly in John’s direction.**

**JOHN: Bum itch.**

Sally spun her head around to give John a strange look. “What was the point of saying that with such large words, John?”

He shrugged.

**SHERLOCK: Oh!**

**They sit in silence for a few seconds.**

**SHERLOCK: So why don’t you see him anymore?**

**JOHN: Who?**

**SHERLOCK: Your previous commander, Sholto.**

**JOHN: “Previous commander.”**

**SHERLOCK (briefly closing his eyes awkwardly): I meant “ex.”**

**JOHN: “Previous” suggests that I currently have a commander.**

Lestrade found himself a bit amused by that. Did Sherlock see himself as John’s current commander or something? He cracked a smile as his eyes drifted to the side toward John.

**SHERLOCK: Which you don’t.**

**JOHN: Which I don’t.**

**SHERLOCK (with a small smile): ’Course you don’t. He was decorated, wasn’t he? A war hero.**

**JOHN: Not to everyone. He led a team of crows into battle.**

**SHERLOCK: “Crows”?**

**JOHN: New recruits. It’s standard procedure; break the new boys in – but it went wrong. They all died; he was the only survivor. The press and the families gave him hell. He gets more death threats than you.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, I wouldn’t count on that.**

**JOHN: Why have you suddenly taken an interest in another human being?**

**SHERLOCK: I’m…chatting.**

**John raises his eyebrows and looks over at him. Sherlock half-turns his head and looks at him out of the corner of his eye.**

**SHERLOCK (turning his head back to the front): Won’t be trying that again.**

**JOHN: Changing the subject completely… (he pulls in a breath through his nose, then looks at Sherlock again) …you know it won’t alter anything, right, me and Mary, getting married? We’ll still be doing all this.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, good.**

**JOHN: If you were worrying.**

**SHERLOCK: Wasn’t worried.**

“He was totally worried,” Anderson said.

**John looks down and chuckles thoughtfully.**

**JOHN: See, the thing about Mary – she has completely turned my life around; changed everything. But, for the record, over the last few years, there are two people who have done that…and the other one is…**

**He looks around. Sherlock is no longer sitting at his side.**

**JOHN: …a complete d***head.**

Lestrade erupted into laughter. A few others giggled quietly, but John just looked fairly annoyed. He still couldn’t help smiling a little at Sherlock’s antics, though.

**He looks all around the park but there is no sign of said d***head.**

*****

**Inside the barracks, the duty sergeant sits at his desk looking through paperwork. Through the window behind him, three pairs of Guards march past, only the upper part of their bodies and their bearskins visible. A seventh bearskin-wearing person marches behind them…except that this one is wearing a highly non-regulation Belstaff coat.**

They’d already laughed so much during this section, but Sherlock’s antics were sure to get them every time. Well…he _had_ said it was a funny story.

**Outside, Sherlock marches along behind the others, smartly swinging his arms, then he stops, takes off the bearskin and puts it down on a nearby ledge. Using the window above the ledge as a mirror, he ruffles his flattened hair back into position, then heads off across the parade ground.**

**Inside the barracks, he walks across the entrance hall towards one of two flights of stairs. Two Guards wearing standard khaki army attire walk down the other flight and Sherlock turns his head away from them and apparently instantly becomes invisible because they take no notice of him. He trots up the stairs, employing the “I’m invisible if I don’t look at you” trick again partway up when two more soldiers walk across the landing, then he goes up onto the landing. Several voices can be heard talking and laughing from a nearby room, and he walks across and opens the door. Inside is a rec room where many soldiers are sitting and chatting. Two are playing table tennis and others are watching them. Sherlock must have gone into invisibility mode again because nobody looks at him or reacts in any way. He closes the door again and moves on.**

“How is he doing that? He just got into the Queen’s Elite Guards’ barracks so easily!” Sally questioned. She turned to Lestrade, who was equally baffled. Sherlock wasn’t hard to miss. He’d been on National news (sometimes International) and since his return, all of London was sure to know of him, but none of them had even reacted.

**Outside the barracks, a new Guard has come to relieve Bainbridge. He marches over, turns to stand at Bainbridge’s side and shuffles sideways until their shoulders touch. Bainbridge marches forward a few paces, then turns and marches into the barracks.**

**Inside, now holding his bearskin under his arm, he walks up the stairs. His face appears to be rather sweaty. He walks into the shower room, puts the bearskin down and undoes his white webbing belt, grimacing a little. Putting the belt down, he starts to unbutton his jacket.**

“I wonder what’s going to happen to him,” Molly murmured.

“What makes you think anything’s going to happen?” Sally asked.

Molly gave her a baffled look. She paused a moment, trying to figure out if Sally was serious. “Because…the case is called _the Bloody Guardsman_?” she replied hesitantly.

Sally flushed, though she didn’t even pick up the irritation hidden deep within Molly’s tone.

*****

**In an office nearby, an officer called Major Reed is sitting behind his desk and looking at John’s military ID card. He looks up at John who is sitting opposite him.**

**REED: Can I ask what this is in connection with?**

**JOHN: Private Bainbridge contacted us about a personal matter, sir.**

**REED: Nothing’s personal when it concerns my troops. What do you really want?**

**JOHN: I’m here on a legitimate enquiry.**

**REED: Press? Digging for some bloody Royal story or something?**

**JOHN (pointing at his ID card): No, sir, I’m Captain John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers.**

**REED: Retired. You could be a used car salesman now, for all I know.**

“What made you think that would work?” Lestrade asked John.

John shrugged. “It might’ve.”

*****

**The duty sergeant walks into the shower room. One of the showers is running and steam billows across the floor.**

**DUTY SERGEANT: Bainbridge! Gentleman here to see you!**

John looked smug. “See? I told you it would work.”

“Well, what d’ya know…”

**He walks across towards the cubicle.**

**DUTY SERGEANT: Bainbridge!**

**He raps on the closed door of the cubicle, then looks down. Through the almost-opaque door, Bainbridge can be seen slumped on the floor with his back against the door, and bloodstained water is pouring out of the cubicle.**

“When did _that_ happen? We literally _just_ saw him before he got in the shower! He was fine!” Sally demanded. She gestured wildly to the screen, horrified to see the man bleeding out on the ground. She’d seen blood before – of course, she was a cop – but that man was going to die if someone didn’t do something soon!

*****

**REED’S OFFICE. Major Reed looks closely at John.**

**REED: I know you, don’t I?**

**JOHN: Hmm?**

**Reed tosses John’s card across the table. John picks it up and puts it back into his wallet.**

**REED: I’ve seen you in the papers.**

**John clears his throat uncomfortably.**

**REED: Hang around with that detective – the one with the silly hat. What the hell does Bainbridge want with a detective?**

**JOHN: I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say.**

**REED: You’re not at liberty to say?! He’s a soldier in my regiment – I’ll be damned if he’s going to get up to cloak and dagger nonsense like this.**

**The duty sergeant hurries into the room.**

**DUTY SERGEANT: Sir…**

**He stops when he realizes that Reed isn’t alone in the room.**

**DUTY SERGEANT: Sir.**

**REED: What’s going on?**

**DUTY SERGEANT: It’s Bainbridge, sir. He’s dead.**

“He’s already dead?” Molly asked, horrified. “Tell me you solved it at least?” She turned to John.

He sighed again. His heart tugged painfully in his chest to hear about the man’s death – the man he might’ve been able to save if he’d gotten in past the major. “Why does everyone keep forgetting that this is the future, and I don’t know what’s going to happen any more than you do?” he questioned. He wasn’t really asking anyone in particular – maybe he was asking God. Or their captor. Whoever the higher power was that kept making the others ask him questions he couldn’t answer.

Molly said nothing. She just stared at him for several seconds before turning her attention back to the screen.

**Looking horrified, Reed gets up and follows the sergeant out of the room. John hurries after them.**

*****

**In the shower room, Bainbridge is now lying face down on the floor on top of a great deal of broken glass. There is a lot of blood on his lower back. The duty sergeant leads the others in, and Reed hurries over to the body staring at it in shock.**

**REED: My God!**

**Sighing deeply at the sight, John walks towards Bainbridge but Reed holds up a hand to stop him.**

**JOHN: Ah, no, let me take a look, sir. I’m a doctor.**

**REED: What? Sergeant, arrest this man.**

**The duty sergeant instantly takes hold of John’s left arm and twists it behind his back.**

**JOHN: What? No-no! I’m a – I’m a doctor.**

**REED: Oh, you’re a doctor now, too. Sergeant…**

“Too? He never even _said_ he was a used car salesman! _You_ did!” Anderson protested, jabbing his finger at the major.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Sally said, narrowing her eyes at him, “but I _think_ he means John being an army man _and_ a detective’s assistant.”

“Oh.”

**He jerks his head towards the door.**

**JOHN: Let me examine him, please!**

**The sergeant starts to pull John away but just then another sergeant comes in, bundling Sherlock into the room. He has Sherlock’s right arm twisted up behind his back.**

**SERGEANT: Sir, caught this one snooping around.**

**Reed looks at John.**

**REED: Is that what this was all about? Distracting me so that this man could get in here and kill Bainbridge?**

**JOHN: Don’t be…**

**Sherlock has pulled free of his sergeant and is walking forward to look more closely at the body. The sergeant follows him, taking hold of his arms and pulling him away again.**

**SHERLOCK (to Reed): Kill him with what? Where’s the weapon?**

**REED: What?**

**SHERLOCK: Where’s the weapon? Go on, search me. (He holds his arms wide.) No weapon.**

**JOHN: Bainbridge was on parade. He came off duty five minutes ago. When’s this supposed to have happened?**

**REED (to Sherlock): You obviously stabbed him before he got into the shower.**

**SHERLOCK: No.**

**REED: No?!**

**SHERLOCK: He’s soaking wet and there’s still shampoo in his hair. He got into the shower and then someone stabbed him.**

**DUTY SERGEANT: The cubicle was locked from the inside, sir. I had to break it open.**

**REED: You must have climbed over the top.**

**SHERLOCK: Well, then I’d be soaking wet too, wouldn’t I?**

**JOHN (loudly): Major, please. I’m John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. Three years in Afghanistan, a veteran of Kandahar, Helmand, and Bart’s bloody Hospital. (Firmly) Let me examine this body.**

Anderson whistled appreciatively.

“Well done, John, dear,” Mrs. Hudson said. She reached over to pat him on the arm.

**Reed looks down at the body for a long moment, then finally looks at the duty sergeant and nods sharply. The man releases John.**

**JOHN (taking his jacket off): Thank you.**

**Walking forward, he puts the jacket onto a bench and then goes over to crouch down beside Bainbridge. The duty sergeant talks quietly to Sherlock.**

**DUTY SERGEANT: Suicide?**

**SHERLOCK: No. The weapon again – no knife.**

**He walks to the front of the shower cubicle and bends down to look all around it, then squats down at Bainbridge’s head. John is examining Bainbridge’s lower back.**

**JOHN: Hmm. There is a wound to the abdomen – incredibly fine.**

**SHERLOCK: Man stabbed to death. No murder weapon. Door locked from the inside. Only one way in or out of here.**

**John has moved to Bainbridge’s head and has peeled one of his eyes open.**

**JOHN: Sherlock.**

**SHERLOCK: Mmm?**

**JOHN: He’s still breathing.**

Sally leaned forward. “If he’s still breathing, wouldn’t he still have a pulse? I thought the sergeant said he was dead?”

“Maybe the sergeant did it!” Anderson declared recklessly.

John glared at him. “That is a _serious_ accusation, Anderson.”

“Agreed.” Lestrade shared John’s glare. “You have _no right_ to say something like that, Anderson.”

**DUTY SERGEANT: Oh my God.**

**SHERLOCK (to John): What do we do?**

**JOHN: Give me your scarf.**

**SHERLOCK: What?**

**JOHN: Quickly, now.**

**While Sherlock unwraps his scarf from his neck, John looks up at Reed and the others.**

**JOHN: Call an ambulance.**

**SERGEANT: What?**

**JOHN (loudly): Call an ambulance now.**

**He points towards the door. Still, the men hesitate.**

**JOHN (firmly): Do it!**

**Both of the sergeants turn and hurry from the room. John has pressed the scarf against the wound in Bainbridge’s back and now he takes Sherlock’s hand and puts it on top of the scarf, positioning his fingers where he wants them.**

**JOHN: Nurse, press here – hard.**

“Sherlock’s the nurse?” Sally mumbled, staring. Her forehead wrinkled.

**SHERLOCK (wrinkling his nose in distaste): “Nurse”?**

**JOHN: Yeah, I’m making do. Keep pressure on that wound.**

**Sherlock leans closer so that he can press harder. John moves to Bainbridge’s head.**

**JOHN: Stephen. Stephen, stay with me.**

*****

**RECEPTION.**

“Why are we back at the wedding? The story isn’t over yet! They didn’t solve it yet!” Anderson flailed uselessly in his seat, aggravated by the suspense.

John shrugged. “Maybe Sherlock never solved this one. Locked door mysteries are always the hardest to solve.”

**SHERLOCK: Private Bainbridge had just come off guard duty. He’d stood there for hours, plenty of people watching, nothing apparently wrong. He came off duty and within minutes was nearly dead from a wound in his stomach, but there was no weapon. Where did it go? Ladies and gentlemen, I invite you to consider this: a murderer who can walk through walls, a weapon that can vanish – but in all of this, there is only one element which can be said to be truly remarkable. Would anyone like to make a guess?**

**The guests fidget and look at each other.**

**SHERLOCK: Come on, come on, there is actually an element of Q and A to all of this.**

**He clears his throat. Still, the guests remain silent.**

**SHERLOCK: Scotland Yard.**

**Greg lifts his head.**

**SHERLOCK: Have you got a theory?**

**Greg stares at him blankly.**

**SHERLOCK: Yeah, you. You’re a detective – broadly speaking. Got a theory?**

Lestrade flushed.

**LESTRADE: Er, um, if the, uh, if the, if-if-if, if the blade was, er, propelled through the, um… (he stops to think for a moment) …grating in the air vent…maybe a-a ballista or a – or a – or a catapult. Erm, somebody tiny could-could crawl in there. (He sucks in a breath.) So, yeah, we’re loo…we’re looking for a-a-a-a dwarf.**

Then, Lestrade groaned. “That sounds stupid,” he mumbled, shaking his head.

Sally gave him a flat look.

“What? He put me on the spot! He’s probably not even talking about the guard!”

That comment drew everyone’s eyes. “What’s that about?” Sally asked. “Not about the guard?”

“W-well…it stopped before he solved it, but Sherlock started this whole thing telling a story about John, so…this must be about John.” His eyes slowly grew wider. “They said Bainbridge was dead, right? But John said he was still breathing. He’s alive because of John.”

“What’s your point?” John asked.

“Sherlock was already looking for a murder weapon, but there was no murder.” Lestrade didn’t even explain further.

Sally wrinkled her eyebrows. “Yeah. Let’s just go with your dwarf theory.”

**Sherlock is staring at him blankly.**

**SHERLOCK: Brilliant.**

**LESTRADE: Really?**

**SHERLOCK (instantly): No.**

**Greg sighs and lowers his head.**

**SHERLOCK: Next!**

**TOM (whispering to Molly): He stabbed himself.**

Molly sighed. Why had her future self fallen for this man? They’d already ruled out suicide; wasn’t he listening? And why would Bainbridge go to a detective before his apparent suicide, only to have no weapon in plain sight? If anything, she hadn’t fallen for him for his brain – that was for sure.

**SHERLOCK: Hello? Who was that?**

**Tom looks up, wide-eyed.**

**SHERLOCK: Tom.**

**Grimacing, Tom slowly stands up.**

**SHERLOCK: Got a theory?**

**Tom sways nervously from foot to foot for a moment.**

**TOM (slowly, tentatively): Um…attempted suicide, with a blade made of compacted blood and bone; broke after piercing his abdomen…like a meat…dagger.**

**A couple of the guests snigger. Sitting beside Tom, Molly’s face is a picture of disbelief. She may be reconsidering her marriage options. At the top table, Sherlock’s expression also speaks volumes.**

“God, at least Molly seems to be seeing the light, now,” Sally said.

**SHERLOCK (speaking precisely): A meat dagger.**

**TOM (awkwardly): Yes.**

**MOLLY (whispering through gritted teeth): Sit. Down.**

**SHERLOCK (to Tom, speaking precisely): No.**

**Tom sits down.**

**SHERLOCK (to the guests): There was one feature, and only one feature, of interest in the whole of this baffling case, and quite frankly it was the usual. John Watson – who, while I was trying to solve the murder, instead saved a life.**

Lestrade was in disbelief. His theory had been correct? Well…his present theory, which was technically the past? Whatever. He’d gotten it right. How was that? Perhaps seeing the way Sherlock’s brain really worked helped him with his own deductions (like Anderson was hoping)? Maybe it just made him more in tune with the man he’d known for so long but never knew personally.

“How did you get that?” Sally and Anderson shrieked together, both turning to him in utter shock.

“I don’t know,” he said simply. “I’m trying to figure that out, myself.”

Anderson turned away, mumbling inward to himself. “If watching Sherlock solve cases can help Lestrade get better, maybe I still have a chance!”

**Mary quietly laughs in delight, and John smiles.**

**SHERLOCK: There are mysteries worth solving and stories worth telling.**

**He looks down at John.**

**SHERLOCK: The best and bravest man I know – and on top of that, he actually knows how to do stuff.**

Lestrade smiled at John, too. “Yeah. He may not be a world-class detective, but he knows how to do…stuff.” He nodded firmly – exaggeratingly.

John just blushed. He ducked his head to hide his face.

**John lowers his head and chuckles with embarrassment.**

**SHERLOCK: …except wedding planning and serviettes – he’s rubbish at those.**

**JOHN: True!**

**The guests laugh.**

**SHERLOCK: The case itself remains the most ingenious and brilliantly-planned murder – or attempted murder – I’ve ever had the pleasure to encounter; the most perfect locked-room mystery of which I am aware. However, I’m not just here to praise John – I’m also here to embarrass him, so let’s move on to some…**

**LESTRADE (interrupting): No-no, wait, so how was it…how was it done?**

**SHERLOCK: How was what done?**

**LESTRADE: The stabbing.**

**Sherlock looks down awkwardly for a few moments, then raises his head.**

**SHERLOCK: I’m afraid I don’t know. I didn’t solve that one. That’s… (he pauses) …It can happen sometimes. It’s very…very disappointing.**

“If he never solved it, how did he know that their theories weren’t true?” Sally questioned.

Lestrade resisted the urge to smack himself in the face for what felt like the millionth time. “Just because he didn’t find the correct answer, doesn’t mean he can’t tell what _didn’t_ happen _,”_ he said, but Sally just looked at him with a blank expression. He didn’t feel like trying to explain it.

**He looks reflective for a second, then takes a breath and looks out to the guests again.**

**SHERLOCK: Embarrassment leads me on to the stag night. Of course, there’s hours of material here, but I’ve cut it down to the really good bits.**

“Oooh! The stag night!” Mrs. Hudson shuffled excitedly in her seat, adjusting herself. “This should be good!”

“Have you never seen Sherlock drunk before?” Anderson asked her.

“He doesn’t usually drink,” she replied.

“No. He’s mostly a drug addict,” Sally mumbled.

Mycroft, who’d been strangely quiet the whole time, glared at her. Then, he just sighed. “Alas, Ms. Donovan is correct. My brother hasn’t drunk much alcohol in his life. It didn’t provide the same stimulation as the drugs, so he never bothered.”

“How do you even know he got drunk if he remembered the night? Maybe he just got John drunk and laughed at him doing stupid stuff,” Molly asked. “Um…no offence, John.”

“None taken.”

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	58. 3x2 Part 3 The Sign of Three

Anderson rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “This ought to be good,” he murmured excitedly. “He said he cut it down to the good bits, but…” he frowned. “I can’t help but want to see everything. I can’t imagine it not _all_ being hilarious.”

“Hush you,” John scolded. “If I had my way, none of you would be watching this at all.” He pressed his eyes closed. “It’s already bad enough that Sherlock’s going to tell it at my wedding!”

**FLASHBACK. An entry from John’s blog entitled “The Mayfly Man” drifts across the screen. It starts, ‘We’d just returned from a quiet, civilized evening in the pub ...’ The entry fades from view and we’re in Molly’s lab at Bart’s.**

“Seriously?” Sally asked, looking at John with sympathy. “Your own stag night turned into a case?”

“It seems so,” Lestrade said. He laughed, clapping John on the shoulder. “Poor bloke.”

**MOLLY: Murder scenes?**

**She turns and looks at Sherlock standing beside her.**

**MOLLY: Locations of…murders?**

**SHERLOCK: Mmmm, pub crawl – themed.**

**MOLLY: Yeah, but why-why can’t you just do Underground stations?**

**SHERLOCK (wrinkling his nose in distaste): Lacks the personal touch. We’re going to go for a drink in every street where we…**

**MOLLY (joining in, then finishing his sentence for him): …every street where you found a corpse! Delightful! Where do I come in?**

**SHERLOCK: Don’t want to get ill. That would ruin it – spoil the mood.**

**MOLLY: You’re a graduate chemist. Can’t you just work it out?**

“Yeah, why _can’t_ he just work it out on his own? God knows he can do it,” Sally said.

**SHERLOCK: I lack the practical experience.**

**He smiles at her. She looks at him straight-faced and her voice drops half an octave.**

**MOLLY: Meaning you think I like a drink.**

Molly flushed.

“Meaning also that Sherlock doesn’t drink at all,” Anderson added.

Sally rolled her eyes. “We already established that. Idiot.”

**SHERLOCK: Occasionally.**

**MOLLY: That I’m a drunk.**

**SHERLOCK (quickly): No. No!**

**She sternly holds his gaze. He looks away, blinking for a couple of seconds, then finally finds something to say.**

**SHERLOCK: You look…well.**

**MOLLY (smiling slightly): I am.**

**SHERLOCK: How’s…**

**He looks to the side, clearly searching his brain for the name before finally finding one which he doesn’t seem totally confident of, because he offers it very tentatively.**

“Does he really not know the guy’s name or is he doing this on purpose?” Anderson wondered. “He’d usually not try to so hard and just come up with the closest name if he doesn’t care enough to remember.”

**SHERLOCK: …Tom?**

**MOLLY: Not a sociopath.**

**SHERLOCK: Still? Good.**

Lestrade chuckled. “He’s acting like _Molly_ was the one who turned Moriarty into a psychopath.”

Molly gave him a half-hearted glare.

“Or maybe he’s implying that she’d just drawn to psychopaths and he’s surprised Tom hasn’t shown his true colours yet,” Sally grumbled under her breath.

**MOLLY (smiling at him): And we’re having quite a lot of sex.**

Molly flushed again, hiding her face. Saying that in front of Sherlock was bad enough, but for everyone else to hear it…she felt like she was dying inside.

**Sherlock goes offline momentarily, his eyes flickering between her and mid-air before he can move on.**

Sally laughed loudly. “He looks so uncomfortable! Good job, Molly!” she teased.

**SHERLOCK: Okay.**

**He takes a large folder full of papers from his coat and puts it on the table.**

**SHERLOCK: I want you to calculate John’s ideal intake, and mine, to remain in the sweet spot the whole evening.**

**The folder appears to be full of his and John’s medical records and other personal documentation. Molly looks at what seems to be a birth certificate.**

**SHERLOCK: Light-headed, good…**

**He hands her a picture of Vitruvian Man with a photograph of John’s head stuck over the original head.**

**MOLLY: Urinating in wardrobes, bad.**

**SHERLOCK: Hmm.**

*****

**PUB. Sherlock stands at the bar and looks at the barman.**

**SHERLOCK: Two, er…beers, please.**

Sally stared incredulously. “Has he even _been_ to a bar before?”

Mycroft shrugged. “For a case or two…”

**BARMAN: Pints?**

**Sherlock takes two tall and slender glass graduated cylinders from his coat pockets and puts them onto the bar.**

**SHERLOCK: Four hundred and forty-three point seven millilitres.**

John drops his face into his hands. “Seriously, Sherlock?"

**Shortly afterwards he takes the cylinders, now almost full of beer, over to the nearby bench where John is standing and puts them onto the table.**

Anderson grinned. “My favourite part about this is that Sherlock is just looking at the bartender with confusion. God knows what the bartender is thinking about that.”

“Obviously. Who would want fifteen-sixteenths of a pint of beer?” Mycroft sneered.

Everyone stared at him incredulously. “Why would you even work out the math for that?” Lestrade wondered.

**JOHN: Ah...**

**He looks at them in disbelief, then sighs heavily while Sherlock takes out his phone, selects an app and puts it onto the bench. The phone’s stopwatch starts up.**

Mrs. Hudson stifled another giggle. “John, the night is just starting. Don’t look so frustrated already.”

John rubs the back of his head. “I should’ve expected this, yeah?”

**JOHN (picking up his cylinder): What, are we on a schedule?**

**SHERLOCK: You’ll thank me.**

**Smiling, he clinks his own cylinder against John’s, and they drink.**

*****

**NEXT PUB. Sitting at a table in a bar, the boys clink their cylinders together and drink.**

“Are you guys drinking the same beer, or do you get it refilled every time, because from this – what’s obviously going to be a montage – it’s hard to tell.”

John sighed. “Anderson, I don’t think they would even let you in a bar with a glass of beer already.”

“That means they get it refilled each time, idiot!” Sally translated as Anderson gave John a blank look.

*****

**NEXT PUB. Standing at the bar, Sherlock drains his cylinder, grins widely, then delicately wipes his lip. He seems to be feeling the beer a little. John looks down into his own cylinder with perhaps a disappointed expression.**

“You tired of him yet, John?” Lestrade asked, grinning at the man.

*****

**NEXT PUB. John takes a long pull on his drink and hums appreciatively, while Sherlock looks thoughtfully at the level of beer remaining in his own cylinder. They both turn and look down at Sherlock’s phone on the bar, then John puts down his cylinder and Sherlock bends to look at the level.**

*****

**NEXT PUB. They clink their cylinders together again.**

**JOHN: Cheers.**

**SHERLOCK: Cheers.**

**They drink. Sherlock is holding his phone in his other hand, updating their alcohol levels.**

*****

**NEXT PUB. Sitting at a table, the boys drain their latest beers, grimace, and then put the cylinders onto the table. This bar has loud music playing. John turns and looks all around the room. Sherlock points over John’s shoulder.**

**SHERLOCK: Over there.**

**JOHN (leaning closer): What?**

**SHERLOCK: Toilets. Any second now, you’re going to…**

**JOHN (putting a hand on his arm): Hang on. Tell me after – I need the loo. (He gets up.)**

**SHERLOCK: Mmm, on schedule.**

“At least that’s handy,” Anderson acknowledged. “If not a bit tedious.”

**JOHN (turning back): Eh?**

**SHERLOCK: Nothing – go!**

**John stumbles off, while Sherlock looks at his phone and pulls up his charts which will measure urine output against blood alcohol level. He updates the alcohol level chart and finishes it with a fancy flourish.**

**A little while later John returns to the table.**

**SHERLOCK: How long?**

**JOHN: Sorry?**

**SHERLOCK: Your visit.**

**John sits down and gives him a quizzical look. Sherlock looks down at his chart.**

**SHERLOCK: If you could estimate approximate volume discharged…**

“Sherlock…” John warned, despite his screen-self doing it for him.

**JOHN: Stop talking now.**

**He half-winks at him.**

*****

**NEXT PUB. John is alone at the bar, and he takes a shot glass full of – presumably – whiskey from the barman.**

**JOHN: Ooh, er…**

**He glances over his shoulder to where Sherlock is standing with his back to him.**

**JOHN: Quick, one more. He mustn’t see.**

“Oh no. This is going to put off Sherlock's schedule entirely!” Molly fretted, though she had a twinkle of amusement in her eyes.

Lestrade guffawed. “I can now see how your stag night got a bit out of hand!” he said.

**He drinks the shot in one gulp, humming appreciatively, then takes the second shot which the barman has brought him.**

**JOHN: Ta.**

**The two cylinders are on the bar in front of him, full of beer, and he pours the whiskey into the left one. He takes both of them across towards Sherlock but then stops and looks at them, apparently unable to remember which one has the shot in it. Sniffing the left one and presumably thinking that that one contains only beer, he puts it onto the table.**

“And now he’s given Sherlock the one with the shot.” Sally groaned, rolling her eyes. “Nice one, John.”

John’s cheeks turned pink.

**JOHN: There you go.**

**Sherlock turns and picks it up.**

**JOHN: Cheers.**

**SHERLOCK: Thank you.**

**They drink.**

Anderson rubbed his hands together as Sherlock tipped the graduated cylinder back. “Oh my God. I can’t wait to see where this leads.”

*****

**NEXT PUB. Sherlock is plastered. In the smoking area outside the pub, he is loudly and drunkenly gesticulating and sounding off to a male customer over the very loud music.**

“Oh God.” Sally let out a groan. “This isn’t going to end well.”

Meanwhile, Anderson, John, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade were all laughing loudly at the appearance of the – clearly drunk beyond reason – Sherlock.

“How long has this been going on?” Lestrade turned to John, even though he knew that John wouldn’t know. “You two left when it was dark and it's still dark, so it couldn’t have been that long. How much alcohol d’you think you gave him?”

John shrugged. “As far as I know, that one extra shot of whisky. By accident.” He chuckled a little seeing Sherlock stumbling around. How long _had_ they been out drinking? Surely, not that long. Was Sherlock just a lightweight?

**SHERLOCK: I know Ash!**

**John is sitting at a nearby table, looking fairly legless himself. He covers his face with his hand.**

**SHERLOCK: Don’t – Tell – Me – I – Don’t!**

**On each word, he pokes the man in the upper chest with one finger, and on the last word, he puts his hand on the man’s shoulder and pushes him. Sighing, John looks up as the man swings a punch at Sherlock’s face. Sherlock sways back – possibly more by luck than judgement – and avoids it.**

**JOHN (jumping up): Oh…**

**Thrown off-balance by his swing, the man stumbles forward and almost falls onto a nearby table. One of his mates helps him up. John grabs Sherlock from behind and pulls him away while Sherlock flails wildly towards the man.**

**JOHN: All right, enough! That’s…**

**Grunting with the effort and slurring the rest of his words [possibly saying ‘Come on’], he drags Sherlock a few feet away, supporting most of his weight, before propping him onto his feet.**

**JOHN: Stand up straight.**

**Sherlock turns around towards him. John points towards the exit to Sherlock’s left.**

**JOHN: Yeah.**

**Sherlock points back towards the customer.**

**SHERLOCK (slurring): Ashton. I know Ashton.**

“What do you reckon he was even trying to say?” Lestrade wondered.

“Not sure,” John said, “The music was really loud. It’s hard to tell. Besides, he was drunk, so he probably wasn’t making much sense anyway.”

“It sounds like 'ashtray', what d’you reckon?” Anderson guessed.

“I’d say it sounds like Ashton, but who’s Ashton?” Molly pointed out.

*****

**All is silent.**

**SHERLOCK (slurring): I have an international reputation.**

“Are they back at Baker Street?” Lestrade squinted at the dark stairs.

**The camera pans slowly down a flight of stairs and reveals the boys lying on the steps. John is on his back by the wall with his arms folded; Sherlock is on his side facing the bannisters. Both of them have their eyes closed.**

“At least you both got home alright,” Mrs. Hudson said. “But you ought to take better care of yourselves when you’re out and about at night,” she chided.

John hung his head. “Just be glad he didn’t start hunting a serial killer in his drunken stupor…” he said quietly.

“Who says he didn’t try?” Anderson countered. He paused a moment. “I wonder how his mind is working now that he’s drunk…”

“What do you mean?” Sally turned to him. “He’s drunk. I doubt it’s working at all!”

“No!” Anderson insisted. “What I mean to say is…we see how his mind is working while he’s solving things, right? How would him being drunk effect that? Would we not just see anything at all?”

Sally frowned. “I doubt we’ll see that. They’re not on a case right now.”

Anderson nodded with the energy of a caffeinated squirrel. “But they will be!”

“Right. I forgot that this was also a case.” Her eyes widened suddenly. “Did John write in the blog that it was after a quiet night out at the pubs?” She chortled, looking at the man in question. “You lied.”

“Did not! Sherlock never started any fights. For all we know, it _was_ a quiet night out.” He turned away, muttering to himself, “It was a lot quieter than it _could_ have been, at least…”

**John briefly opens his eyes, then closes them again and settles his head into a more comfortable position. Sherlock looks over his shoulder.**

**SHERLOCK: Do you have an international reputation?**

**He settles his head down and closes his eyes again.**

**JOHN: No, I don’t have an international reputation.**

**SHERLOCK: No.**

**He pauses for a moment, then turns his head towards John a little but doesn’t open his eyes.**

**SHERLOCK: And I can’t even remember what for.**

Lestrade could barely stop laughing long enough to breathe, let alone speak. Finally, he manages to get out a few words. “Oh God! He’s _so_ drunk!” he looked at John. “We’re _definitely_ inviting him to our next station night out."

**He thinks for a second.**

**SHERLOCK: Sss... Crime…something or other.**

**He settles his head back down on the stair and grunts quietly. The camera pulls back a little and we now realize – if we hadn’t already – that the boys are lying near the bottom of their own staircase in Baker Street. The door to 221A opens and Mrs. Hudson comes out with a bag of rubbish. She stops in surprise at the sight of them.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Ooh! What are you doing back? I thought you were going to be out late.**

**SHERLOCK (slurring): Ah, Hudders.-**

“Hudders…?” Sally muttered.

**-What time is it?**

**Mrs. Hudson looks at her watch.**

**MRS. HUDSON: You’ve only been out two hours.**

Another round of laughter causes the whole video to pause.

Even Mycroft had to spare himself a second of amusement, letting the corners of his lips curve upward. He wasn’t much of a drinker himself, but he knew his younger brother never went for that sort of thing. He may have been taking drugs since before his teen years, but alcohol? That was something else. That was something Sherlock couldn’t account for – nor could he anticipate John’s miraculous need for more alcohol than his body could handle.

John had his head in his hands. Since when was _he_ the alcoholic in his family? He’d been so tough on his sister, Harry – and this _was_ his stag night – but his intolerance was just plain embarrassing. Why hadn’t he just let Sherlock keep things going? He’d calculated it all! They’d drink enough just to have that gentle buzz all night long, without becoming over-excessively plastered, and yet he’d ordered a whisky shot and the night went all downhill from there.

**The boys sit up, trying to stand but too tightly wedged together. Sherlock falls off the step and thumps on his backside onto the next step down.**

*****

**Later, they are upstairs, sitting in their armchairs in the living room, and are playing the Rizla Game. Rizlas are thin white pieces of paper, with glue along one of the long sides, which are used to roll up loose tobacco to form a cigarette. Sherlock has a Rizla paper stuck to his forehead. Written on it in John’s handwriting are the words “SHERLOCK HOLMES”.**

“Seriously John? You put _his own name_ on the paper?” Sally asked.

John shrugged. “I’m probably still drunk in this! You can’t blame me for it!”

**He looks blurrily across to John, who has a Rizla stuck to his own forehead which reads, in somewhat wobbly writing by Sherlock, “MADONNA”. John peers at him, apparently trying to keep his eyes open.**

“I’m honestly more surprised that Sherlock put _Madonna_ has his word,” Lestrade said.

Anderson furrowed his eyebrows. “You sure he didn’t just take it from a newspaper heading or something? Who’s to say that he actually knows what that means?”

**JOHN: Am I a vegetable?**

**Sherlock, holding a glass of whiskey in one hand, points at him.**

**SHERLOCK: You, or the thing?**

“Nice to know he hasn’t lost any of his snark,” Molly muttered under her breath. Louder, she said, “Looks like they’ve sobered up at least a little bit.”

**They both snigger.**

**JOHN: Funny!**

**Sherlock looks down.**

**SHERLOCK (bashfully): Thank you.**

**JOHN: Come on.**

**Sherlock raises his head again.**

**SHERLOCK (slurred): No, you’re not a vegetable.**

**JOHN: It’s your go.**

**He picks up his own glass and drinks.**

**SHERLOCK: Errr ... am I human?**

**JOHN: Sometimes.**

“John,” Mrs. Hudson chided softly, though she smiled, hiding a giggle,

**SHERLOCK: Can’t have ‘sometimes.’ Has to be, um ...**

**He struggles to pull himself up a little in his chair.**

**JOHN: Yes, you’re human. (He puts down his glass and slumps back in his seat.)**

**SHERLOCK (still finishing his previous sentence): ... ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ ... Okay.**

**He leans woozily forward, bracing his upper arms on his legs.**

**SHERLOCK: And am I a man?**

**JOHN: Yep.**

**SHERLOCK: Tall?**

**John holds his hands wide.**

**JOHN: Not as tall as people think.**

“I thought it had to be yes or no,” Sally said, crossing her arms. “Or did you both just forget that in the second since he said it?”

**SHERLOCK: Hmm. Nice?**

**JOHN: Ish.**

**SHERLOCK: Clever?**

“Definitely!” Anderson exclaimed delightedly.

**JOHN: I’d say so.**

**SHERLOCK: You would?**

**John chuckles.**

**SHERLOCK: Mmm, am I important?**

**JOHN: To s-some people.**

**SHERLOCK: Do “people” ... (he makes vague air-quotes around the word) …like me?**

**JOHN (reaching for his glass but not picking it up): Er, no, they don’t. You tend to rub ’em up the wrong way.**

**SHERLOCK: Okay.**

**John sniggers. Sherlock slumps back in his chair and then leans forward again.**

**SHERLOCK: Am I the current King of England?**

**JOHN: Are you…? (He cackles with laughter.) You know we don’t have a king?**

**SHERLOCK: Don’t we?**

Mycroft just sighed, putting his head in his hands.

Lestrade leaned toward him. “Is he talking about you, or does he really not know that we don’t have a king?”

“My brother often jokes that I run the whole of England,” was all the elder Holmes said in return.

Lestrade didn’t know how to take that answer, so he just stayed silent and went back to watching the two drunk Baker St. boys play their game.

**JOHN: No. (He chuckles again briefly.)**

**SHERLOCK (sitting back): Your go.**

**He drinks from his glass. Unfolding his legs, John shifts forward until he is sitting right on the edge of his seat. He instantly starts to slide off and reaches out to brace himself with one hand on Sherlock’s right knee. He pushes himself back a little, then he and Sherlock look down at his hand. John pulls it away and holds both his hands out, shrugging.**

**JOHN: I don’t mind.**

**Sherlock raises his fingers around his glass and shrugs to indicate that he’s not bothered either.**

**JOHN: Am I a woman?**

**Sherlock looks at him for a second, then snorts laughter. He chuckles for a few moments.**

Sally frowned. “Y’know, this isn’t exactly funny, but the fact that you are both laughing about it makes it funny.”

**JOHN: What?**

**SHERLOCK: Yes.**

**Again he tries to straighten himself up on the chair.**

**JOHN: Am I…pretty? (He points up to his Rizla.) This.**

**He props his head up on one fist.**

**SHERLOCK: Err… Er, beauty is a construct based entirely on childhood impressions, influences, and role models.**

**JOHN: Yeah, but am I a pretty lady?**

John felt like he was blushing completely from head to toe at this point.

**He blinks owlishly at Sherlock, who leans forward and screws up his eyes to peer at the Rizla.**

**SHERLOCK: I don’t know who you are. I don’t know who you’re supposed to be.**

**JOHN: You picked the name!**

**SHERLOCK (flailing a hand towards another part of the room): Ah, but I picked it at random from the papers.**

“I can’t believe you were right. _Again_. How do you keep guessing these things?” Sally asked, throwing her hands up in the air as she glanced at Anderson.

He grinned. “What can I say? I’m a Sherlock expert.”

“No, you’re not,” Lestrade said. “I don’t know how you’re doing it, but you’re not a Sherlock expert. You’re just…good at guessing.”

**JOHN (slumping back in his seat): You’re not really getting the hang of this game, are you, Sherlock?**

**SHERLOCK (raising his eyes towards his own Rizla): So I am human, I’m not as tall as people think I am…**

**He sits back in the chair.**

**SHERLOCK: I’m-I’m nice-ish…**

**John stretches out his socked feet and props them against the front of Sherlock’s chair next to his friend’s legs.**

**SHERLOCK: …clever, important to some people, but I tend to rub them up the wrong way.**

**He laughs with delight.**

**SHERLOCK: Got it.**

**JOHN: Go on, then.**

**SHERLOCK: I’m you, aren’t I?**

John was fuming. “How could he _not_ get that? How _drunk_ is he right now?” he wondered aloud.

Lestrade grinned at him. “Think of it this way, John. He just said you’re clever.”

**Mrs. Hudson knocks on the open door.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Ooh-ooh!**

**The boys look over at her. She is standing in the doorway with a young woman who is wearing a nurse’s outfit with a cardigan over it.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Client!**

“Mrs. Hudson,” Sally began, “You know it’s John stag night, and that they’re both drunk. Why wouldn’t you just turn the client away?”

“I probably thought they could use a bit of a pick-me-up,” she answered simply.

“But why didn’t the client just leave when she saw that they’re both drunk beyond standing?” Molly wondered next.

**JOHN: Hallo.**

**SHERLOCK (waving at the woman): Hallo!**

**Mrs. Hudson turns to go back down the stairs.**

**JOHN (gesturing the woman into the room): Come on.**

**TESSA: Which one of you is Sherlock Holmes?**

**Smiling broadly at her, John raises his hand and – whistling a single rising note through his teeth in time with his hand movement – slowly points up towards the words on Sherlock’s Rizla. Sherlock grins widely at her.**

“Well, now you’ve just gone and given it away, John,” Anderson said, frowning.

“He wasn’t going to get it anyway,” John reasoned.

“I just wonder what that poor client was thinking. She must’ve been pretty desperate to stay even knowing that they’re drunk beyond reason,’ Sally muttered. “I mean, she’d be able to tell, yet she didn’t wait until morning, which would’ve been the reasonable thing to do.”

*****

**Shortly afterwards, the boys have removed the papers from their heads and have relocated to sit side by side on the sofa. Tessa sits on a dining chair facing them.**

**TESSA (hesitantly): I don’t…a lot… I mean, I don’t…date all that much…**

**Sherlock sinks back on the sofa and props his head up on his left hand.**

**TESSA: …and…he seemed…nice, you know?**

**John smiles at her, then blinks slowly, trying to keep his eyes open.**

**TESSA: We seemed to automatically connect. We had one night – dinner, such interesting conversation. It was…lovely.**

**John smiles again and glances briefly towards Sherlock.**

**TESSA: To be honest, I’d love to have gone further…**

**Sherlock’s eyes drift closed. He forces them open and shakes his head, sitting up and withdrawing his right hand from where he had draped it along the back of the sofa behind John.**

**TESSA: …but I thought, ‘No, this is special. Let’s take it slowly…’**

Sally groaned. “Okay. The only reason you two have let her go on this long without getting to the point is because Sherlock is drunk as hell,” she said.

John shrugged. “That seems about right.”

**Sherlock leans forward, braces his elbows on his legs and folds his hands in front of his mouth. John shifts his own position.**

**TESSA: ... exchange numbers.’**

**Sherlock’s eyes drift closed.**

**TESSA: He said he’d get in touch and then…**

**She looks down sadly.**

**TESSA: Maybe he wasn’t quite as keen as I was…**

**John is practically asleep with his eyes open, but he shrugs vaguely at her.**

**TESSA: …but I – I just thought… (she becomes tearful) …at least he’d call to say that we were finished.**

“Oh, my _God_ , when will this be over?” Sally grunted.

Anderson shot her a strange look. “You deal with people like this all the time and you’ve never complained before. What’s wrong now?”

He was ignored.

**She lifts a hand to wipe a tear from her eye. Sherlock’s face fills with sympathy and sadness for her. She falls silent and Sherlock looks away, his face still full of sympathetic pain…then he frowns as if wondering where the hell that emotion came from.**

“Was Sherlock just…sympathetic? I thought he didn’t _feel_ emotions. That’s what a sociopath is, innit? Someone who can’t interpret their own and others’ emotions?” Sally frowned, utterly confused.

**TESSA (pulling herself together): I went round there, to his flat.**

**Sherlock has also recovered and props his chin on his clasped hands.**

**TESSA: No trace of him. Mr. Holmes…**

**Sherlock smiles cheesily at her, his eyes starting to close at the same time.**

**TESSA (gazing down at the floor beside the sofa): …I honestly think I had dinner…with a ghost.**

**She turns her head and looks at Sherlock. The camera is behind him and John and we can’t see their faces. Neither of the boys reacts to what she just said, but a slight grunt comes from Sherlock, followed by a noisy but brief exhale.**

**TESSA: Mr. Holmes?**

**The camera angle changes, and we see that both Sherlock and John have their eyes closed. Sherlock snores gently and John’s head drops lower and he grunts quietly.**

**TESSA (loudly): With a ghost, Mr. Holmes!**

“Oh, come off it!” Sally yelled. “Can’t you see they’re both drunk and exhausted? That case doesn’t even seem too pressing. Surely it can wait until morning. They’re trying to sleep.”

Anderson grinned at her, his teeth stretching ear to ear like the Cheshire cat. “I didn’t know you cared, Donovan,” he teased. “Ow!”

Sally leaned back, rubbing the tingling sting out of her palm from where she’d smacked him.

**Sherlock’s head falls off his hands and he almost tumbles off the sofa.**

**SHERLOCK (forcing himself back upright): Boring, boring, boring – no!**

**John draws in a noisy breath and rolls his head on his neck.**

**SHERLOCK: Fascinating!**

**He turns around to John.**

**SHERLOCK: John – John! Wake up!**

**He shakes John’s leg. John opens his eyes and flails at him. Sherlock turns to Tessa.**

**SHERLOCK (slurred): Apologies about my… (he points towards John) …you know…thing.**

“Thing?” John was baffled. “I’m just his _thing_?”

Anderson mumbled to himself quietly. “D’you think I can be Thing 2?”

**He pulls in a breath, clears his throat, then turns to John and points at him.**

**SHERLOCK (sternly): Rude. Rude!**

Lestrade laughed at John’s expense.

**He turns back to Tessa.**

**TESSA: I checked with the landlord, and the man who lived there died. Heart attack. And there we are, having dinner one week on.**

**She picks up her handbag from the floor and rummages in it.**

**TESSA: And I found this thing online, sort of chatroom thing…**

**She takes out a printout and gives it to Sherlock.**

**TESSA: …for girls who think they’re dating men from the spirit world.**

**John has fallen asleep again, but Sherlock stands up and then wobbles a little unsteadily.**

**SHERLOCK: Don’t worry. I’ll find him in ten minutes.**

**Tessa smiles with delight.**

**SHERLOCK: What’s your dog’s name?**

**JOHN (blurrily, talking in his sleep): Yeah, I’m there if you want it.**

“What’s he talking about, d’you reckon?” Anderson pondered.

Lestrade grinned. “People often speak the truth in their sleep. See John? No matter how much you deny it, you just can’t resist Sherlock.”

John growled. “That’s probably not it at all! And will you _stop_ already?”

Lestrade just turned away and quietly muttered, “Never.”

“What was that?” John hissed.

“Nothing.” Lestrade crossed his arms, acting nonchalant.

**SHERLOCK: John! Wake up!**

**He reaches down and shoves John’s shoulder. John almost falls over sideways.**

**SHERLOCK: We’re meant to… (he clicks his fingers) …The game’s… (he waves a hand vaguely) …something.**

“On!” Anderson supplied. He’d always wanted to say that.

**He stumbles away. John’s eyes drift upwards as he applies all his mental skills to the problem and then points at Sherlock.**

**JOHN: …on.**

**Tessa gasps excitedly. Sherlock staggers over and points down at him.**

**SHERLOCK: Yeah, that, that!**

**He turns and wanders off again.**

**TESSA (standing up): Okay!**

**John slowly pushes himself to his feet.**

*****

**LATER. In a living room elsewhere, Sherlock wobbles unsteadily in front of a large clear glass plate on a stand. The boys are in what looks like a warehouse conversion. It’s a large apartment with bare brick walls and a very high ceiling. The room is decorated with several pieces of modern furniture and art. Sherlock grins drunkenly at the glass plate, then straightens up a bit and looks around the room. He is currently kneeling on the sofa with his arms braced on its back. John stands nearby, leaning against a supporting pillar in the middle of the room.**

**JOHN: Ohhh, it’s nice!**

Sally stared incredulously. “How did you guys somehow get _more drunk_ as time went on? You weren’t even drinking since that girl showed up!”

“It’s pro’lly because she woke them up. You really shouldn’t take cases while you’re drunk,” Lestrade advised, “nor should clients insist you work while drunk. Mrs. Hudson, just don’t let anyone else in while they’re drunk.”

The woman in question was just giggling at the boys on the screen. “I don’t think I will. I probably haven’t laughed this much since Molly was talking to me about the telegrams!”

Lestrade just sighed.

**Sherlock stands up off the sofa, then promptly falls back onto it. John turns a little and braces his hand against the supporting pillar. Tessa is standing nearby, together with the landlord who is holding a set of keys and looking at the boys in confusion.**

**JOHN: Nice place.**

**The landlord sighs and crosses his arms. Sherlock gets up and totters around the living room.**

**TESSA: See anything?**

**SHERLOCK: Hmm?**

**TESSA: Any clues, Mr. Holmes?**

**John has now braced his back against the pillar and has closed his eyes.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, errrrrr…**

*****

**He looks blurrily down at the fancy coffee table and starts deducing:**

Anderson’s eyes widened. He leaned forward slightly. This was exactly what he’d been wondering earlier! Exactly what form would his deductions take in his drunken state?

*****

**designer**

**table**

**art?**

*****

**He looks across to an armchair:**

*****

**chair**

**seat**

**leather**

**sleeeeep**

A round of light laughter – giggles to chortles to chuckles – erupted from the viewers.

*****

**Moving on to a fancy-looking speaker:**

*****

**thing**

**speaker**

**hi tech**

**thing**

*****

**His eyes drift on to a painted animal skull on a stand…**

*****

**? death ?**

**skull**

**? deaded ?**

“Deaded? That’s not even a word,” Sally pointed out. She pursed her lips.

*****

**…and then to a tall slender ornament on the window sill…**

*****

**wood ?**

**? pipe/tube/wotsit**

**thingamebob?**

“He’s just slowly getting worse, isn’t he?” Molly asked, hiding her mouth as if to catch the giggles that spilled from her lips. Sadly, one was unable to catch their own laughter, nor hold it in hand. The sound escaped into the room, swallowed by the darkness.

**?**

*****

**…and to a pale green egg chair…**

*****

**egg ?**

**chair??**

**sitty thing?**

**???????????**

*****

**Still humming vaguely, he wanders over to the chair and looks more closely at it, then twirls around and his eyes settle in a rather unfocused way on Tessa and he deduces her:**

“Everything’s so blurry, and it’s slowly getting blurrier,” Molly pointed out. “He isn’t going to last much longer.”

*****

**nurse**

**?? client ?**

**victim ??**

**cardigan**

Lestrade shrugged appreciatively. “At least he got _nurse_ out of her. The rest of it? Not so impressive.”

*****

**Scratching his head, he suddenly looks inspired. He grins at Tessa.**

**SHERLOCK (slurred): I’m just gonna whip this out.**

**He puts his hand into his coat pocket, then stumbles in circles across the room while he tugs at whatever he’s trying to pull out. Eventually, he manages to extract his pouch of equipment from the pocket, simultaneously shaking off his coat and dropping it to the floor. He blinks at the pouch, then unrolls it and takes out his magnifier. Tossing the pouch over his shoulder, he holds the magnifier up to show the others.**

**SHERLOCK: Mm-hmm?**

**He clicks it open. The landlord sighs again while Tessa smiles awkwardly. John is still half-asleep leaning against the pillar. Sherlock drops to his knees on a white rug, braces himself with his left hand and slowly wobbles forward onto his right elbow. Tessa turns to John and gently pushes him upright from the pillar.**

**TESSA (smiling at him): You all right?**

“What do _you_ think?” Sally shouted, suddenly jumping up from her seat. “He’s bloody drunk and you know it! Why you even took him out to solve your stupid case is beyond me!”

“Careful there, Donovan,” Lestrade warned, though a smile was tugging at the corners of his lips. “You might actually start to care.”

She hesitated for half a second before responding strongly. “Care? Of course, I care! He’s gone out and making a fool of ‘imself, isn’t he? That’s just making us at the Scotland Yard look even worse!”

Lestrade rolled his eyes.

**JOHN (vaguely): Hmm? Yeah. He’s clueing.**

**TESSA: What?**

**JOHN: He’s…hmm? He’s clueing for looks.**

“Nice one, John,” Lestrade teased, elbowing him.

**They look down at Sherlock, who has brought his face down to within about four inches of the rug. He is holding his magnifier to his eye and looking through it, then his eyes drift closed, and he slowly topples forward and face-plants onto the rug.**

**TESSA: Mr. Holmes?**

**Sherlock doesn’t respond, still on his knees with his bum stuck up in the air. He snores noisily. Tessa looks nervously at the landlord and steps forward towards Sherlock.**

**TESSA (louder): Mr. Holmes?!**

**LANDLORD: I’m calling the police.**

“Thank God,” Lestrade said, sighing.

“What are you talking about?” Anderson turned to him with a horrified expression.

Lestrade shot him a _look_ , though Molly was the one who answered. “Sherlock is in no state to be out and about solving cases. At least the police could hold him and John until morning when they’re sober,” she said. Then, she winced. “That wouldn’t be the best way to end your stag night, though, John. Sorry.”

The man in question just shrugged. “Makes for an interesting story, I guess.”

**TESSA: Oh, no…**

**The landlord walks across to the rug and hauls Sherlock up onto his knees.**

**SHERLOCK (flailing and indignant): Whoa, whoa, whoa!**

**The landlord steps back as John holds out a warning hand to him.**

**TESSA: This is a famous detective. It’s Sherlock Holmes and his partner, John Hamish Watson.**

Mycroft froze for a split second. Hamish? From what Sherlock told him. John hated his middle name; he never told it to anyone. How would this client, this _stranger_ , know it then? He peered more closely at her, but beyond what they’d already been given, he saw nothing connecting her to John in any way other than the fact that she’d just shown up on their doorstep earlier that night. He’d definitely be keeping a closer eye on her.

**John steps towards the landlord, attempting and utterly failing to look threatening.**

**SHERLOCK (indignantly): What d’you think you’re doing? Don’t compromise the integrity of the…**

**He turns around, bends over, and throws up on the rug. The landlord closes his eyes, and Tessa puts her hand across her mouth. John’s eyes drift upwards as he goes into full thinking mode again. Eventually, he finds the words he needs to finish Sherlock’s sentence for him.**

Simultaneously, all three Yarders winced, recoiling in disgust.

“Well…there goes the integrity of the crime scene.” Lestrade sighed, shaking his head.

“Right shame,” Sally agreed.

**JOHN (loudly): …crime scene!**

Anderson’s shoulders shook in a silent laugh. “Good job, John,” he said breathily.

**He grins triumphantly at Tessa and holds up his right palm for her to high-five. She doesn’t take up the offer. Eventually, he lowers his hand again, shaking his head. Sherlock coughs and straightens up onto his knees again. He gestures towards John with the magnifier.**

**SHERLOCK: Yeah, that.**

**Looking up at the others, he holds up the magnifier and delicately clicks it closed, then wipes the vomit off his mouth.**

*****

**Close-up of John’s face. He is in a bright room somewhere. His heartbeat can be heard, and his gentle exhale sounds very loud. His eyes move behind his closed lids with a rasping sound. He screws up his eyes a couple of times, the movements making squelchy sounds, then he opens his eyes and blinks with a loud click.**

Anderson winced. “That sounds so uncomfortable. I almost feel hungover just looking at you!”

**A door opens nearby and now we see that John is sitting on the floor of a white-tiled room with his back against the wall. He grimaces at the sound of the door.**

**LESTRADE (cheerfully, offscreen): Wakey-wakey!**

Anderson and Sally both burst out laughing. “Good one, Greg!” Sally clapped him on the shoulder.

He sent her a half-smile. Perhaps she _was_ getting better. A bit.

Meanwhile, John groaned. “Why would you do that to us?” he griped.

Lestrade rolled his eyes. “You have you admit, you deserved it,” he said. Then he chortled. “And it was pretty funny.”

**JOHN (still grimacing): Oh my God.**

**He peers towards the door and now we see that beside him, Sherlock is flat out on his back and fast asleep on the bench of a police holding cell.**

John frowned. “Why’d they put Sherlock on the bench while I was on the floor?”

**JOHN: Greg. Is that Greg?**

**LESTRADE: Get up. I’m gonna put you two in a taxi. Managed to square things with the desk sergeant.**

**John painfully climbs to his feet. Greg laughs disparagingly.**

**LESTRADE: What a couple of lightweights! You couldn’t even make it to closing time!**

Lestrade was shaking his head, disappointed.

**JOHN (quietly as he slowly walks towards him): Can you whisper?**

**LESTRADE (yelling in his ear as he walks past): NOT REALLY!**

**Sherlock flails upwards on the bench, his eyes wide and his mouth open in shock. He looks around the cell in bewilderment. John gives Greg a look of hurt betrayal, then leaves the cell. Greg beckons to Sherlock.**

Even Mycroft had to crack a smile at his brother’s first hangover.

**LESTRADE: Come on.**

Sally barked with laughter. “Seriously? You yell right into John’s ear, but Sherlock? You just call him over like a little dog?”

**He follows John. Sherlock sits up on the bench, stands, totters, falls back onto the bench, then stands up and puts his fingers to his temples, wobbling on one foot. After a moment he lowers his hands and delicately paddles out of the cell.**

*****

**POLICE STATION FRONT DESK. Grunting with the effort, Sherlock puts on his coat. John tucks his wallet into his back pocket.**

**JOHN: Well, thanks for a…you know…**

**They turn and walk away from the desk.**

**JOHN: …an evening.**

**SHERLOCK: It was awful.**

**JOHN: Yeah.**

**Sherlock groans and pinches the bridge of his nose.**

**JOHN: I was gonna pretend, but it was, truly.**

“Give him a break! He’s never done that before!” Anderson protested.

“Er, yeah. No. It was awful,” John countered. “The Rizla Game looked fun, I guess.”

**SHERLOCK (lowering his hand): That woman, Tessa.**

**JOHN: What?**

**SHERLOCK: Dated a ghost. The most interesting case for months. What a wasted opportunity.**

“Because of course, that’s what he focuses on!” Molly threw her hands up in exasperation.

**JOHN: …Okay.**

*****

**Close-up of a glass of water. An effervescent antacid pill is dropped into it and starts to fizz as it dissolves. After a few seconds, John sighs quietly, picks up the glass and drinks.**

**MRS. HUDSON: How are you feeling?**

**JOHN: Mmm. (He drinks again.)**

**MRS. HUDSON: It’s just like old times, having you back here.**

“God,” Sally mumbled, “I keep forgetting that you moved out. It’ll be weird the next time we do a drugs bust on Sherlock’s apartment and you’re not there.”

John levelled her with a glare. “And why would you be doing a dug’s bust? He’s clean. I made sure of that.”

Sally rolled her eyes. “A fake drug’s bust. For the next time, he withholds evidence – and don’t even deny it! You know he’ll do it again!”

John was tight-lipped, wanting to speak, but unable to find the words to unlock his jaw.

**John puts down the glass and smiles towards her. She brings a plate across the kitchen to the table where he’s sitting.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Thought I’d make your favourite, one last time.**

John turned to Mrs. Hudson, his eyebrows raised so high they almost met his hairline. “You’re acting like I’m never coming back!”

She said nothing, just gave him a knowing look in return.

**She puts down the plate in front of him. It contains a full English breakfast – a fried egg, two sausages, mushrooms, baked beans, tomato slices and two half-slices of buttered toast.**

**JOHN: Mm. Don’t sound so…final about it. I will be visiting, you know.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Ooh, I’ve heard that one before!**

“I will visit!” John protested, sounding definitive.

“Of course, you will,” Sally said, though by her tone it was obvious that she didn’t believe it at all.

Molly just rolled her eyes. “Like you visited after you thought Sherlock died? I recall that you didn’t even phone her for _two years_.”

At least John had the decency to blush. “Right.”

**JOHN (picking up his cutlery and cutting into his breakfast): Mm, no, it’s different now, though, isn’t it? It’s different to when we thought we’d lost him.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Well, marriage changes everything, John.**

**John lifts the forkful of food towards his mouth, then looks at it and pauses.**

**JOHN: Does it?**

**MRS. HUDSON: Yeah.**

**She sits down opposite him.**

**MRS. HUDSON: You might not think it, but it does.**

**John moves the fork closer to his mouth, then changes his mind and lowers it back to the plate, groaning quietly.**

**MRS. HUDSON: It’s a different phase in your life.**

**John pushes the plate away from him a little.**

**MRS. HUDSON: You meet new people ’cause you’re a couple…**

**JOHN: Mmm.**

**MRS. HUDSON: …and then you just…let your old friends slip away.**

**JOHN: It won’t be like that.**

“It better not,” Anderson said, growling in John’s direction. “You need Sherlock and he needs you.”

**MRS. HUDSON: Well, if you’ve found the right one – the person that you click with – it’s the best thing in the world.**

**JOHN: Well, I have. I know I have.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Oh, I’m sure. She’s lovely!**

**JOHN: Yeah. I think so. What about you?**

**MRS. HUDSON: Me?**

**JOHN: Did you think you’d found the right one when you married Mr. Hudson?**

**MRS. HUDSON (smiling): No! It was just a whirlwind thing for us. I knew it wouldn’t work, but I just got sort of swept along.**

**JOHN: Right.**

**MRS. HUDSON: And then we moved to Florida. We had a fantastic time, but of course, I didn’t know what he was up to. (Whispering) The drugs.**

**JOHN (laughing): Drugs? (He grimaces at the pain in his head.)**

**MRS. HUDSON: He was running…um, oh God, what d’you call it? Um, a…cartel.**

All three Yarders looked at her with raised eyebrows. They’re known about it before, of course, but hearing her talk about her husband’s…secondary…business just brought it all back to the surface. They’d just forgotten what kind of woman Mrs. Hudson was – how strong she was to survive what she’d gone through.

**John props up his head with his fingers.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Got in with a really bad crowd.**

**JOHN: Right.**

Ignoring Mrs. Hudson’s story for a moment, Anderson let himself laugh at John’s expression. He just looked so tired, like all he wanted to do was sleep, but Mrs. Hudson just kept on talking, oblivious to it.

**MRS. HUDSON: And then I found out about all the other women. I didn’t have a clue! So, when he was actually arrested for blowing someone’s head off…**

**John’s eyes drift sideways, perhaps a little confused by the matter-of-fact way she just said the phrase.**

**MRS. HUDSON: …it was quite a relief, to be honest.**

**JOHN: …Right.**

The others were all just as baffled and apprehensive as John. Where had she _met_ this guy? It sort of made them all wonder what she was like back in her younger years. Who was she before the kind, old, Mrs. Hudson they all knew and loved?

**MRS. HUDSON: It was purely physical between me and Frank. We couldn’t keep our hands off each other.**

**John lowers his head, cringing.**

“Okay, that was something we didn’t need to hear…” Anderson mumbled, cringing as well with his head hanging.

**MRS. HUDSON: I know: there was one night…**

**John holds up a finger to stop her, then turns the finger to point upwards.**

**JOHN: Hang on – was that…Sherlock?**

**There’s no sound coming from above them.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Is it?**

**John continues to point upwards and raises the finger of his other hand to his lips. After a moment they hear footsteps upstairs.**

**JOHN: That’s Sherlock.**

“Great timing,” Lestrade praised, chuckling at John’s desperate attempt to escape the awkward conversation.

**He gets up and painfully walks towards the kitchen door, groaning quietly.**

**Upstairs, Sherlock has an online news article on his laptop screen. It shows a photograph of Major Sholto before he was injured, and a large strapline beside the photo reads, “‘He destroyed us all. And he gets a medal for it.”’ A few visible lines of text above and below the photo show that this is an interview with Madeline Small, the mother of one of the soldiers who died under Sholto’s command. The headline of the article reads, “V.C. Hero – The Unanswered Questions. Why did my boy have to die?”**

**Sherlock looks towards the living room door when he hears John climbing the stairs. He switches to a different tab on the laptop – the website for I DATED A GHOST.COM. John comes in and walks across to the dining table where Sherlock is sitting.**

**SHERLOCK: There are going to be others.**

**JOHN: Others?**

**SHERLOCK: Victims, women. Most ghosts tend to haunt a single house – this ghost, however, is willing to commute, look.**

**He stands up and they look at a map of London spread out on the table behind the laptop. Sherlock has stuck a pin in various places which presumably indicate an appearance of the ‘ghost date.’ There are seven pins in the map, forming a rough circle spanning a few miles around the Thames.**

Sally whistled. “That is a _lot_ of women.” She was eyeing the large cluster apart from the seven single ones.

*****

**Overhead view of a large Council Chamber. The room has wood panelling on the walls and a blue carpet. Banks of benches with red leather-covered seats form a semi-circle. There are six rows of these benches in tiers. At the front of the room on top of a high dais is a large ornate bench – reminiscent of a judge’s bench in a courtroom – behind which is a chair where the Chairman would sit. This chair is high above the chamber floor. The chamber is initially empty but then the perspective changes and Sherlock is standing in front of the closed door at the rear of the room, and many women are standing silently in front of seats all around the room. Sherlock walks down the steps towards the floor, looking around him as he goes, then he reaches the bottom, walks across towards the Chairman’s bench and turns to face the seats. There are at least forty-eight women standing around the room. Sherlock slowly scans all of them, then pulls a thoughtful face and points towards one of the women to his right.**

Anderson leaned forward. “Is this in his Mind Palace again?” he wondered excitedly.

“Seems so,” Lestrade said.

**SHERLOCK: Mmmmmm, not you.**

**The woman sits down. He points to another woman on the right.**

**SHERLOCK: Not you.**

**That woman sits down. He takes a few steps forward and points to a woman on the left-hand side of the seating.**

**SHERLOCK: Not you.**

“How does he know which ones to send away? It looks like he’s meeting with all of them, but this is just from their online profiles, isn’t it?” Sally furrowed her eyebrows a little. She would never admit it out loud – not yet, at least – but she was impressed, which struck her as strange. Of course, when she’d first met Sherlock, way back a few years ago, she’d been impressed, until he revealed himself as a world-class jerk. Then, she’d somehow turned that awe into resentment. Bitterness had taken a hold of her heart and she didn’t do anything to stop it. Now, though, after seeing that he was, in fact, the genius he presented himself as, albeit with a few – self-acknowledged – personality undesirables, she found herself becoming awed again by his intelligence. And this time. She would not fall back into resentment.

"Patterns, I think.”

Sally’s head jerked up, for a moment not understanding that Anderson was responding to her question. He’d heard her? She wasn’t expecting anyone to say anything. “Right. Patterns.” She bit her lower lip.

**She sits and he points separately to two women behind her.**

**SHERLOCK: Not you. Not you.**

**The women sit down.**

**Eventually, only four women remain standing. Sherlock looks around the room once more, then walks over to the nearest of the standing women. She is wearing a black dress.**

**SHERLOCK: Hi.**

**WOMAN: Gail.**

**He turns and walks to the next nearest standing woman, who is wearing a denim jacket.**

**SECOND WOMAN: Charlotte.**

**He turns his head to look at the third woman, wearing a pink jacket.**

**THIRD WOMAN: Robyn.**

**He turns to the final standing woman, wearing a red dress and a red leather jacket.**

**FOURTH WOMAN: Vicky.**

**He turns away and walks towards the Chairman’s bench, then turns back and looks across the room again. The perspective changes and now all the seated women have vanished, and the four remaining women are now standing in a semi-circle in front of him. He looks at Gail.**

“How is he speaking to them all? Isn’t this all in his head?” Lestrade looked at Mycroft, hoping or some insight on how the whole Mind Palace thing worked. How would Sherlock find any new information, even with his genius, if he wasn’t speaking to them directly?

Mycroft was silent for a moment, before he said plainly, “This is most likely an invented interaction in his head whilst he…chats…with them through an online outlet.”

**SHERLOCK: How did you meet?**

**GAIL: Came up to me in a pub.**

**He looks at Charlotte.**

**CHARLOTTE: Same gym as me.**

**He turns his head to Robyn.**

**ROBYN: We just got chatting on the bus.**

**He looks at Vicky, who lowers her eyes flirtatiously at him.**

Molly frowned, causing ugly creases to appear in her forehead.

**VICKY: Online.**

**He turns his head back towards Gail.**

**SHERLOCK: Name?**

**GAIL: Told you.**

**SHERLOCK: His name.**

**GAIL: Oscar.**

**He turns his head to Charlotte and then in turn to the other two.**

**CHARLOTTE: Mike.**

**ROBYN: Terry.**

**VICKY: Um, “love_monkey.”**

Sally gave the woman a strange look.

**Sherlock frowns, then turns back to Gail.**

**SHERLOCK: Your place?**

**ALL FOUR WOMEN (simultaneously): His place.**

**SHERLOCK (to Gail): Address?**

**The four women simultaneously recite four different addresses.**

Sally scoffed. “It might just be me, but I don’t think those addresses are the same.”

Anderson knit his eyebrows together, looking at her incredulously. “You think?”

“I’m being sarcastic!” she snapped.

**GAIL: Nothing happened. It was just…very romantic.**

**SHERLOCK (looking above their heads): Four women in four nights. He must have something special.**

**GAIL: He was very charming.**

**CHARLOTTE: He listened.**

**ROBYN: He was sweet.**

**VICKY: He had a lovely…**

**JOHN: You okay?**

**John is suddenly standing beside Sherlock. Sherlock raises his hand towards Vicky and there’s a beep as she freezes and falls silent. He lowers his hand and turns his head to John, and the two of them are now standing in the living room of 221B. John looks down at the coffee table which has six laptops open on it. One of them is showing a typed message reading, “VICKY: He had a lovely…” Also on the table is a plate containing a slice of gammon steak with a pineapple slice on top of it, a fried egg and some chips.**

“Interesting setup,” Lestrade admitted. “But why the multiple laptops? Surely he could just use one?”

**JOHN: Let your food go cold. Mrs. Hudson’ll play hell.**

**SHERLOCK: Not now, John.**

**Unbuttoning his jacket, he squats down to the coffee table and types onto the laptop which is showing Vicky’s message. The screen is on the website I DATED A GHOST.COM and he and Vicky are writing on its forum. His message comes up reading, “SHERLOCK: Sorry about that.”**

**Back in the Council Chamber, Sherlock’s hand is raised to Vicky but now he lowers it.**

**SHERLOCK: Sorry about that.**

“And…we’re back in his head…” Anderson whispered, grinning.

**The beep sounds again.**

**VICKY: He had a lovely manner.**

**Sherlock looks away.**

**SHERLOCK: Different names, different addresses.**

**He turns to Gail.**

**SHERLOCK: Describe him.**

**GAIL: Short blond hair.**

**CHARLOTTE: Dark hair – long.**

**ROBYN: Ginger. (She shrugs.) I like gingers.**

**VICKY: Couldn’t tell.**

**Sherlock gives her a querying look.**

**VICKY (in a laid-back way, signifying that it was nothing unusual): He had a mask on.**

“I wasn’t going to say this, but what is wrong with this woman?” Sally questioned.

“She has a few kinks, I think,” Anderson whispered to her.

“Well, duh!”

**Sherlock looks away.**

**Without transition he is standing at the side of the Chairman’s bench, holding a newspaper, and quickly turning the pages until he reaches the Obituaries page.**

**SHERLOCK: He’s stealing the identity of corpses…**

“Creepy…” Molly mumbled.

**He works through a different newspaper to its Obituaries page. He zooms in on a message announcing the death of a Michael James Heaney.**

**SHERLOCK: …getting the names from the Obituary columns.**

**He picks up another newspaper from the pile beside him and turns to the relevant page.**

**SHERLOCK: All single men. He’s using the dead man’s flat under the assumption it’ll be empty for a while.**

**He raises his head.**

**SHERLOCK: Free love nest.**

Molly, Mrs. Hudson, and Sally went pale, disgusted. Anderson, Lestrade, and John were also discomforted by the thought. Mycroft didn’t seem to care either way.

**GAIL (looking down, appalled): I feel sick.**

**ROBYN: It’s gruesome.**

**CHARLOTTE: That’s awful.**

**VICKY (looking impressed): Clever!**

**TESSA: Bastard!**

**Sherlock – now standing in front of the women again – turns his head to see that Tessa is now standing between Charlotte and Robyn.**

**In 221B, Sherlock’s head turns at a beep from another laptop lying on one of the dining chairs. He goes across to it, where Tessa’s message on the forum reads, “TESSA: BASTARD!” He types onto that computer and his message appears reading, “SHERLOCK: Hello Tessa”.**

**In the Council Chamber, Sherlock greets her. She’s wearing casual clothes and a long cardigan.**

**SHERLOCK: Hello, Tessa.**

**She looks at him angrily.**

**SHERLOCK: Meanwhile, back to business. No-one wants to use a dead man’s home.**

**Vicky shrugs as if she’s not bothered. Sherlock throws her a disapproving look.**

“Honestly,” Sally rolled her eyes. “Why am I not surprised?”

**SHERLOCK: …Least not until it’s been cleared. So, he disguises himself, steals the man’s home, steals his identity.**

**JOHN (suddenly beside him in the chamber again): But only for one night.**

**Sherlock turns to look at him.**

**JOHN: Then he’s gone.**

**SHERLOCK: He’s not a ghost, John. He’s a mayfly. He lives for a day.**

“And there’s the name of the case on John’s blog! Thank you again, Sherlock!” Anderson exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. He seemed to be far too amused by

**He turns back to the women and John has gone again.**

**SHERLOCK: So – what was it he was looking for?**

**He turns his head to Gail.**

**SHERLOCK: Job.**

**GAIL: Gardener. (She is now wearing a pale jumper and overalls.)**

**CHARLOTTE: Cook. (She’s wearing a cook’s jacket and hat.)**

**TESSA (now back in her uniform): Private nurse.**

**ROBYN: I do security work. (She’s wearing a security officer’s uniform.)**

**VICKY (also wearing the appropriate outfit for her job): Maid.**

**Sherlock looks down for a brief moment, then raises his head.**

**SHERLOCK: Obvious. You all work for the same person!**

**In 221B, he moves from laptop to laptop, typing onto each one, and in the Council Chamber information rapidly scrolls across the face of each of the women in turn. His research goes on for some time but finally, in the Council Chamber, he sighs.**

**SHERLOCK: No, not the same employer. Damn.**

Lestrade frowns. “There’s got to be _some_ connection.”

**He screws his eyes closed.**

**SHERLOCK: Come on. We can do this.**

**He opens his eyes and looks towards Gail.**

**SHERLOCK: Ideal night out.**

**GAIL: Clay pigeon shooting.**

**CHARLOTTE: Line dancing.**

**TESSA (shrugging): Pictures?**

**ROBYN: Wine in front of the telly.**

**VICKY (smiling quirkily at him): Dungeon.**

**Sherlock shakes his head in disbelief. He turns his head to the front and shuts his eyes for a moment, then turns to Gail again.**

**SHERLOCK: Make-up.**

**GAIL: Clarins.**

**CHARLOTTE: No. 7.**

**TESSA: Maybelline.**

**ROBYN: Nothing special.**

**VICKY: Whatever’s cheap.**

**SHERLOCK: Perfume.**

**GAIL: Chanel.**

**CHARLOTTE: Chanel.**

**TESSA: Chanel.**

**Sherlock’s face lights up with hope as he turns to Robyn.**

“I think we’re getting somewhere!” Anderson cheered.

**ROBYN: Chanel.**

**VICKY: Estée Lauder.**

Anderson’s face fell. “Bollocks.”

**He shakes his head disappointedly at her, then looks directly at Tessa.**

**SHERLOCK: Ideal man?**

**TESSA (looking off into the distance with a whimsical smile): George Clooney?**

**She grins at him. He rolls his eyes.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, no.**

**GAIL: Home-loving.**

**CHARLOTTE: He’d have to like cuddling.**

**ROBYN: Caring.**

**VICKY: Ten things. (She holds up her thumb.) One: someone who isn’t competitive with other men.**

**Sherlock frowns at her, looking aghast.**

**VICKY (holding up her forefinger): Two: someone who isn’t constantly trying to define himself by his masculinity…**

Sally threw her head back in aggravation and disbelief. “Oh, God, just stop her now!”

**Sherlock holds up his hand to her. She freezes. He closes his fingers and thumb together and there’s a beep from a computer. Sherlock looks up above the women.**

**SHERLOCK: There’s a unifying factor. There has to be.**

**He lowers his hand and frowns.**

**SHERLOCK: None of you reported anything stolen.**

**He looks down, then raises his eyes and points at the women one by one but this time not going straight around the semi-circle. Presumably, he is working in the order in which the ‘ghost’ dated the women.**

**SHERLOCK: Security guard, gardener, cook, maid, private nurse. He’s romancing his way up a pecking order, somebody’s pecking order.**

**He closes his eyes.**

**SHERLOCK (sternly to himself): Come on, think.**

**His eyes open again.**

**SHERLOCK: Unless…**

**He twitches a small, brief smile and turns to Gail.**

**SHERLOCK: Do you have a secret you’ve never told anyone?**

**ALL FIVE WOMEN (simultaneously): No.**

Lestrade frowned. “They’re lying.”

“How do you know?” Anderson asked.

“Everybody’s got secrets. That just a fact of life. And they were all too quick.” Lestrade shrugged. “I’m a detective, too, you know. I’ve interrogated people.”

**Sherlock smiles.**

**SHERLOCK: Gotcha.**

**JOHN (suddenly at his side again): What d’you mean?**

**SHERLOCK: Everyone has secrets, and they all replied too quickly.**

Lestrade gestured to the screen with one hand. “See?”

**GAIL (looking anxious): Gotta go.**

**She walks away, and there’s a brief electronic sound of her logging off in the real world.**

**CHARLOTTE: See ya.**

**She too turns to leave/log off.**

**SHERLOCK: No!**

**ROBYN: Bye-bye. (She leaves/logs off.)**

**SHERLOCK: Wait!**

**VICKY: Sorry, sexy. (She winks at him.) Some secrets have to stay secret.**

**She walks away/logs off.**

**TESSA (smiling at him): Enjoy the wedding.**

Lestrade froze. “How’d _she_ know about the wedding? They’d just met last night.”

“Maybe she figured out why we were drunk? Stag night – perhaps Mrs. Hudson said something, or one of us,” John suggested.

The DI frowned. “Still strange."

**Sherlock makes an exasperated sound as she walks away/logs off.**

Anderson frowned. “Now you’ve gone and scared them all off.”

“You expected differently from Sherlock?” Lestrade teased, chuckling.

**In 221B, Sherlock shuts down the lid on Tessa’s laptop and straightens up.**

**SHERLOCK: Why? Why would he date all of those women and not return their calls?**

**JOHN: You’re missing the obvious, mate.**

**SHERLOCK (turning to him): Am I?**

**JOHN: He’s a man.**

**SHERLOCK (slamming the lids down on each of the laptops by turn): But why would he change his identity?**

**JOHN: Maybe he’s married.**

**Sherlock slowly straightens up as if realizing something.**

**SHERLOCK: Ohh.**

*****

**RECEPTION.**

“Wait! What about the end of that case?” Anderson asked again. “Why does he keep cutting them off?”

“Maybe he didn’t solve this one, either,” John suggested, shrugging.

“Damn it!” Anderson swung a fist against his knee.

**SHERLOCK: Married. Obvious, really. Our Mayfly Man was trying to escape the suffocating chains of domesticity…**

**John grimaces and shakes his head while Mary widens her eyes briefly and then smiles at him.**

**SHERLOCK: …and instead of endless nights in watching the telly or going to barbecues with awful dreadful boring people he couldn’t stand, he used his wits, cleverness, and powers of disguise… (he finally takes a breath and smiles slightly) …to play the field. He was…**

**He stops when he realizes that he has lost his audience again. The guests look silently back at him. He looks down to his right to see John looking back at him straight-faced and Mary wrinkling her nose and shaking her head slightly.**

“At least he’s getting better at realizing when people don’t appreciate what he’s saying,” Sally admitted. “That’s…something, at least?” She could tell that his manner had slowly been getting better since he’d met John, too, so hopefully, after John was married, he wouldn’t regress. If he did, she vowed to make sure of it personally that John visited the detective every now and again – for her own sake, of course.

**SHERLOCK: On second thoughts I probably should have told you about the Elephant in the Room. However, it does help to further illustrate how invaluable John is to me. I can read a crime scene the way he can understand a human being. I used to think that’s what made me special – quite frankly, I still do. But a word to the wise: should any of you require the services of either of us, I will solve your murder, but it takes John Watson to save your life. Trust me on that – I should know. He’s saved mine so many times and in so many ways.**

“Good save,” John said, fake-toasting Sherlock. Internally, he was sighing in relief that Sherlock wasn’t going to ruin his wedding reception – at least not completely. He was his best friend, after all, and he wanted him to be a big part of the biggest day of his life.

**He holds up his phone.**

**SHERLOCK: This blog is the story of two men and their frankly ridiculous adventures…**

**He smiles, and the guests chuckle.**

**SHERLOCK: …of murder, mystery, and mayhem. But from now on, there’s a new story – a bigger adventure.**

**He looks down at the newlyweds, who smile happily.**

**SHERLOCK: Ladies and gentlemen, pray charge your glasses and be upstanding.**

**He picks up his own glass while the guests do likewise and stand up. The photographer walks forward with his camera.**

**SHERLOCK (raising his glass): Today begin the adventures of Mary Elizabeth Watson and John Hamish Watson.**

**John sighs a little, while Mary giggles.**

John does the same in the viewing room, perturbed by the mention of his middle name – which he still hated with a passion.

**SHERLOCK: The two reasons why every single one of us is…**

**He stops, freezing in place, staring blindly towards the guests. The photographer snaps several photos of him, but the popping flashbulb doesn’t make him react. Sherlock’s fingers loosen slightly, and his champagne glass slips out of them and begins a very slow-motion tumble towards the floor.**

“What just happened?” Sally asked, jerking back in surprise.

Anderson had a vastly different reaction. Instead of startling, he squealed in delight, recognizing that expression on Sherlock’s face. He’d studied it well over the past several hours of their watching of his life. “What did he just realize?” he asked.

**In the Council Chamber, Sherlock – now in his wedding gear – lowers his raised hand and turns towards the five uniformed women.**

**SHERLOCK: What did you say?**

**He points at Tessa.**

**SHERLOCK (walking slowly towards her): You said, “John Hamish Watson.” You said that. You said, “Hamish.”**

“What’s so weird about that?” Sally wondered. She still didn’t know much about John, nor could she admit that she’d paid remarkably close attention to personal details about him, even while they were watching these intimate moments in his life. It rang a bell somewhere, that it was wrong, but why? what was wrong about that woman knowing John’s middle name? His blog said “John H. Watson” so surely, he’d mentioned his middle name online at some point?

**Flashback to the landlord hauling a drunk Sherlock up onto his knees.**

**SHERLOCK (in the flashback): …whoa, whoa!**

**TESSA (in the flashback): This is a famous detective. It’s Sherlock Holmes and his partner, John Hamish Watson.**

**SHERLOCK (circling around Tessa in the Council Chamber): How did you know? How did you know his middle name? (He walks backwards, still facing her.) He never tells anyone. He hates it.**

Sally’s eyes widened as she suddenly remembered. “Oh.”

*****

**FLASHBACK. Sherlock, with at least ten unlit cigarettes stuffed in his mouth, walks across the living room of 221B.**

Lestrade narrowed his eyes. “I sure hope you didn’t let him smoke all of those at once, John.”

“No! Of course not!” However, John waited until Lestrade looked away before he became panicked. He’d never found _that_ stash of cigarettes. At least, not that he knew of.

**John is sitting at the dining table facing the windows and typing on his laptop, and Sherlock frowns down at the screen as he walks past. Taking the cigarettes out of his mouth, he turns his back on John as he walks into his line of sight so that John can’t see the cigarettes. There is a lot less grey in John’s hair than in ‘our’ present and so this flashback presumably takes place not long after John moved into Baker Street.**

**SHERLOCK (reciting what he has just seen at the top of John’s blog page): “John H. Watson”?**

**JOHN (glancing briefly around at him): Yep.**

**As he continues typing, Sherlock sits down on the sofa, stuffing the cigarettes into a Persian slipper while keeping a wary eye on John in case he looks up. He taps the cigarettes down, then lies down on the sofa and shoves the slipper underneath it.**

John wondered if that stash was still there. Probably not.

*****

**ANOTHER DAY. The boys are sitting at the kitchen table. John is reading the paper.**

**SHERLOCK: Henry?**

**JOHN (without looking up): Shut up.**

**Sherlock bites into a piece of toast.**

*****

**ANOTHER DAY. Sherlock looks up from his microscope at the kitchen table and turns his head to where John is sitting in his armchair reading.**

**SHERLOCK: Humphrey?**

Lestrade chuckled.

Mrs. Hudson giggled. “I think not.”

“Why would Sherlock even think of Humphrey? I can’t see that at all,” Anderson pointed out.

**JOHN (firmly): Shut up.**

*****

**ANOTHER DAY. Buttoning his jacket, Sherlock walks out of his bedroom and stops outside the door to the bathroom. The shower is running inside.**

**SHERLOCK (loudly): Higgins?**

“These just keep getting better and better!” Anderson laughed.

**JOHN (loudly from inside the bathroom): Go. Away.**

**Grimacing, Sherlock walks on.**

*****

**THE PRESENT. COUNCIL CHAMBER.**

**SHERLOCK: Took him years to confide in me.**

John just scoffed. “Confide?” he grumbled a few unintelligible lines, perhaps with a couple of choice words thrown in.

*****

**FLASHBACK. John walks up the stairs of 221 carrying bags of shopping. Sighing tiredly, he walks into the living room where Sherlock is standing just to the left of the door with a sheet of paper in his hands. John glances at it as he walks past, then stops and backs up.**

**JOHN: That’s my birth certificate.**

**SHERLOCK: Yep.**

**Loudly popping the ‘p,’ he walks away. John stares after him.**

Lestrade, Anderson, and Sally guffawed.

*****

**THE PRESENT. COUNCIL CHAMBER. Sherlock looks quizzically at Tessa, then turns and walks towards the Chairman’s bench.**

**SHERLOCK: And The Woman – she knew.**

*****

**FLASHBACK to Irene Adler and Sherlock having eyesex in the living room of 221B during the events of “A Scandal in Belgravia.”**

**JOHN (abruptly): Hamish.**

**They both look at him.**

**JOHN: John Hamish Watson – just if you were looking for baby names.**

*****

**COUNCIL CHAMBER.**

**SHERLOCK (still walking towards the front of the chamber): God knows where she is.**

**She is standing right in front of him, her hair up, her face beautifully made-up, stark naked and looking at him intensely. He stops and sighs with annoyance. She reaches forward and strokes one finger down his cheek.**

Sally stared skeptically at the screen. “Why does she appear naked in his head when he thinks of her?” Her tone suggested that she already knew the answer but had to ask just for the sake of asking.

**SHERLOCK (exasperated): Out of my head. I am busy.**

**She slowly pulls her hand away and he turns back to the other women. Irene has gone again.**

**SHERLOCK (to Tessa): There’s only one time that name’s been made public.**

“When was that?” Anderson sat, waiting for Sherlock to continue, but when the screen turned black yet again, signalling the end of this section, he slumped back in his seat in overdramatic anguish. “Not again! Why does it always have to end on such a cliff-hanger?" He rounded on John. “Why are there so many cliff-hangers in your life?” he accused, wagging a finger in the army doctor’s face.

John stared at him incredulously. “That has nothing to do with me!” he protested. “It’s Sherlock being the dramatic one! Besides, this is all just clever editing done by whoever decided to make this bloody thing! Seeing as that person has nothing better to do than make mine and Sherlock’s lives into a bloody television show, they must be whack!”

Anderson leaned back, arms uncrossed. “Fair enough,” he said, much calmer than a few seconds ago.

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	59. 3x2 Part 4 The Sign of Three

It seemed that the wait was longer than usual again if only to aggravate Anderson with the added suspense from the cliff-hanger. He began tapping his foot impatiently on the shag carpet, grumbling, “What’s taking so long?”

John sighed. “It’ll start when it starts. Why are you so invested in this? It’s _my_ life!”

“It’s not just yours! It’s Sherlock’s too! And I make some appearances!”

“You gotta admit,” Sally cut in, “He’s got a point. Maybe not so much with that last one, but pretty close.”

**FLASHBACK. A mock-up of the wedding invitation is on the screen of a laptop. The top part reads:**

*****

**Dr John Hamish WATSON & Miss Mary Elizabeth MORSTAN**

**Request the pleasure of your company**

**at their marriage**

*****

**John points at the screen.**

**JOHN: Does it have to be on the invitation?**

**MARY: It’s your name.**

**She, John, and Sherlock are in 221B’s living room looking at the laptop.**

**MARY: It’s traditional.**

**SHERLOCK (simultaneously): It’s funny.**

**John looks over at Sherlock while Mary bites back a smile.**

*****

**TESSA (voiceover): Enjoy the wedding.**

Anderson’s eyes widened comically. “That’s right! How did Sherlock not notice that before?” he exclaimed.

Lestrade frowned. “I think he was a bit preoccupied at the time.

*****

**At the reception, Sherlock’s glass continues its ultra-slow-motion fall towards the floor.**

*****

**In the Council Chamber, Tessa smiles brightly at Sherlock.**

**TESSA: Enjoy the wedding.**

**SHERLOCK (pointing at her): The wedding. You knew about the wedding; more importantly, you’d seen a wedding invitation. Now barely a hundred people had seen that invitation. The Mayfly Man only saw five women. For one person to be in both groups ... (he tilts his hand back and forth) ... could be a coincidence.**

**MYCROFT (disapprovingly, offscreen): Oh, Sherlock.**

Mycroft was torn between a frown and a smile, not sure whether to be flattered that he was a figment in his brother’s mind palace, making him see reason, or keeping himself neutral.

**Sherlock turns around. Mycroft is up on the dais, standing in front of the Chairman’s chair. The women have vanished.**

**MYCROFT: What do we say about coincidence?**

**SHERLOCK (slowly walking towards him): The universe is rarely so lazy.**

**MYCROFT: So, the balance of probability is…?**

**SHERLOCK: Someone went to great lengths to find out something about this wedding.**

**MYCROFT: What great lengths?**

**SHERLOCK (stopping, while continuing to stare intensely up at his brother): They lied, assumed false identities.**

**MYCROFT: Which suggests…?**

**SHERLOCK: Criminal intent.**

**MYCROFT: Also suggests…?**

**SHERLOCK: Intelligence, planning.**

**MYCROFT: Clearly. But more importantly…?**

“More importantly what, Mycroft?” Lestrade asked with a smug grin.

Mycroft scowled at him. “That isn’t me. It’s a figment – an interpretation of myself within my brother’s mind.”

“He’s got you pretty spot on the nose,” John observed with a snort of laughter.

Mycroft said nothing because he couldn’t deny that point. There was hardly any difference – aside from the fact that the Mycroft in his brother’s head was fatter, if only slightly. (Was that really how his brother saw him?)

Quiet, but still audible, Anderson said, “Does anyone else notice that this is happening in Sherlock’s head while he is _still_ at the wedding?”

*****

**The champagne glass continues its fall.**

*****

**SHERLOCK (in the Chamber): The Mayfly Man.**

*****

**The champagne glass continues downwards.**

*****

**SHERLOCK (in the Chamber): The Mayfly Man is…**

*****

**SHERLOCK (at the reception): …here today.**

**His champagne glass smashes on the floor at his feet. He looks down at it.**

**SHERLOCK (raising his head): Ooh, sorry. I…**

**He looks down at the floor, making an exasperated noise and clearing his throat. The Head Waiter hurries over to him.**

**WAITER: Another glass, sir?**

**SHERLOCK (taking the glass from him): Thank you, yes. Thank you, yes.**

**He looks out at the guests.**

**MYCROFT (in the Council Chamber): Something is going to happen – right here.**

**At the reception, Sherlock looks around, clearly thinking frantically. He flickers back and forth between the Chamber and the reception but then looks at the guests.**

**SHERLOCK: Now, where were we?**

“How can they not see what’s going on?” Sally wondered. She knew Sherlock acted strangely, and most of the people were strangers, but at least his close friends would realize that something was wrong, right? At least John, or Molly, or Mrs. Hudson, or even Lestrade?

**MYCROFT (in the Council Chamber): Could be any second.**

**Holding their glasses in the reception room, Mrs. Hudson and Greg look a little anxious. Greg looks at Mrs. Hudson and frowns.**

**MYCROFT (in the Council Chamber): You have control of the room.**

**SHERLOCK (shaking his head a little in the reception room): Ah, yes. Raising glasses and standing up. Very good. Thank you.**

**MYCROFT (sternly, in the Council Chamber): Don’t lose it.**

**At the reception, Sherlock raises both hands and gestures downwards.**

**SHERLOCK: And down again.**

“What’s he doing now?” Sally asked.

“Testing it?” Anderson suggested, though, when she looked over at him, all he could do was shrug.

**Confused, the guests start to sit down, murmuring amongst themselves. Sherlock looks at them for a moment, then puts his glass down on the table and straightens up.**

**SHERLOCK: Ladies and gentlemen, people tell you not to milk a good speech – get off early, leave ’em laughing. Wise advice I’ll certainly try to bear in mind. But for now…**

Even as Sherlock trailed off, the viewers braced himself. They knew Sherlock well enough that he was going to do…something. They weren’t sure yet what that was, but if he was going to figure out the case, he’d definitely do something unexpected.

**He puts one hand on the table and quickly jumps over to the other side. The guests gasp in surprise.**

**SHERLOCK: …part two.**

**He walks into the central aisle between the tables.**

**SHERLOCK: Part two is more action-based. I’m gonna…walk around, shake things up a bit.**

**He looks at each person as he walks past, mentally tagging each of the men with a sign near them reading, “MAYFLY MAN?” The only male guest who doesn’t get a tag is young Archie.**

“It’s starting!” Anderson cried.

Sally rolled her eyes. “It’s been _going_ for the past few _hours_! It feels like days! Weeks! What I’m wondering is when it’s all going to end!”

“No! Don’t say that!” Anderson replied, aghast.

As if to agree with him., the screen suddenly went blank to allow more words to be visible. “Don’t worry. You’ll be out of here before you know it. We just need to witness several more cases…for experimental observation purposes, of course.”

As the screen flipped back to the wedding, Lestrade laughed. “Have you noticed that the only man in the room without a tag is Archie?”

“Of course,” Anderson said, “Anyone else could be him, couldn’t he?”

“Even me?”

Anderson didn’t have an answer for his former boss, but Mycroft did. “Realistically, you were never shown, so it could be plausible that you are not one of Sherlock’s suspects. I assume John is also inherently innocent.”

**SHERLOCK: Who’d go to a wedding? That’s the question. Who would bother to go to any lengths to get themselves to a wedding?**

**Two-thirds of the way along the room he turns around.**

**SHERLOCK: Well, everyone.**

**He claps his hands once.**

**SHERLOCK: Weddings are great! Love a wedding.**

**MARY (quietly, to John): What’s he doing?**

**JOHN (watching his friend with concern): Something’s wrong.**

“Ah! Finally, someone notices that Sherlock’s not acting like he normally does!” Sally cheered. “I mean, he’s eccentric at best, but seriously!”

**SHERLOCK (pointing towards him as he heads back along the room): And John’s great, too! Haven’t said that enough. Barely scratched the surface. I could go on all night about the depth and complexity of his…jumpers…**

**John closes his eyes in disbelief. Out on the floor, Sherlock is pacing and turning back and forth, peering at each of the male guests and their imaginary tags.**

**SHERLOCK: …and he can cook. Does…a…thing…thing with peas…**

**John and Mary exchange a puzzled glance. Sherlock continues to pace and look closely at the guests.**

**SHERLOCK: …once. Might not be peas. Might not be him. But he’s got a great singing voice…or somebody does.**

“I see that one of Sherlock’s many talents _isn’t_ continuing with a best man speech while trying to narrow down a possible murderer,” Moly said jokingly.

“Well, who’s is, dear?” Mrs. Hudson asked.

**He sighs in frustration, his teeth clenched.**

**SHERLOCK: Ahh, too many, too many, too many, too many!**

“I’d honestly hate to be at your wedding, John, especially as a stranger with the best man going crazy on the floor at the reception,” Sally said.

“I’d honestly hate to have you there,” John deadpanned.

“Burn…” Anderson whispered.

**He grimaces angrily, the “MAYFLY MAN?” tags now huge and overwhelming him. He stops and takes a breath and the tags disappear.**

**SHERLOCK: Sorry. Too many jokes about John! Now, er…**

**Inside his head he slowly walks across the Council Chamber again towards Mycroft, staring up at him.**

**MYCROFT: Criminal intent.**

**SHERLOCK (at the reception): Where was I? Ah, yes…**

**MYCROFT (in the Council Chamber): Extraordinary lengths.**

“Don’t know about you,” Anderson whispered to Sally, “But I’d hate to have him in my head while I’m trying to focus.”

“God, don’t we all?” she muttered back.

Mycroft turned his nose up at the two. “And why would I be in _your_ heads? It’s not like you’ve actually solved any cases.”

The room went silent, all except for Lestrade’s wheezing laugh. “He’s got you there,” he said.

Sally sneered. “Oh, shut up!”

**SHERLOCK (at the reception): Speech! (He points towards the top table, grinning around at the guests.) Speech. (He claps his hands together again.) Let’s talk about…**

**MYCROFT (in the Council Chamber): All of which is suggestive of…?**

**In the Chamber, Sherlock’s eyes widen, and he presses his lips together to begin forming the word.**

**SHERLOCK (at the reception): …murder.**

“It must be difficult to keep up two conversations at once,” Mrs. Hudson observed.

**John sighs and lowers his head, while Mary frowns.**

**SHERLOCK: Sorry, did I say ‘murder’? I meant to say ‘marriage’ – but, you know, they’re quite similar procedures when you think about it. The participants tend to know each other, and it’s over when one of them’s dead.**

**He emphatically sounds the ‘d’ at the end of the word. Again John sighs and lowers his head.**

John does the same thing while sitting on the couch watching his future wedding unfold because _of course_ someone has to ruin it by attempting a murder, and _of course_ Sherlock has to try and stop it without alarming the murderer. He hadn’t noticed it before, but it appeared that Sherlock was doing exactly what he’d just spent his speech saying was _John’s_ purpose. He was not solving a murder; he was saving a life. The only question remained – would he be able to do it?

**SHERLOCK: In fairness, murder is a lot quicker, though. Janine!**

**She looks up a little wide-eyed.**

**SHERLOCK (walking over to stand behind one of the male guests): What about this one? Acceptably hot? (He grins at Janine, then looks at the woman sitting beside the man.) More importantly, his girlfriend’s wearing brand-new uncomfortable underwear… (he zooms in on the top part of the woman’s dress, where the seam of her ill-fitting bra – or whatever she’s wearing underneath – is visible through the material; then he zooms across to a thread of cotton on the man’s jacket) …and hasn’t bothered to pick this thread off the top of his jacket… (he zooms to a smudge on the man’s neck) …or point out the grease smudge on the back of his neck. Currently, he’s going home alone.**

**Sherlock now has his phone behind his own back and is rapidly typing onto it with his thumb.**

“That’s a talent I’d love to have.” Anderson sighed wistfully. It seemed like such a useless talent – to be able to type with one hand behind your back (on the hand that was behind your back, no less!).

“There’s a lot of talents you’d love you have, I bet,” Sally sniped, “Considering you don’t have many to begin with.”

He frowned. “That was rude.”

**SHERLOCK: Also, he’s a comics and sci-fi geek. They’re always tremendously grateful – really put the hours in.**

**He chuckles.**

**SHERLOCK: Geoff, the gents.**

**He looks across to Greg and jerks his head towards the door.**

**SHERLOCK: The loos, now, please.**

**LESTRADE: It’s Greg.**

**SHERLOCK: The loos, please.**

**Greg’s phone beeps a text alert.**

**LESTRADE (reaching into his pocket): Why?**

“You’re being awfully blank right now, Greg,” Mrs. Hudson fretted. “Were you feeling alright?”

Lestrade shook his head, baffled by how he hadn’t gotten Sherlock’s signal. It was so obvious! How could he have not understood?

**SHERLOCK: Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s your turn.**

**He jerks his head towards the door again, grimacing. Greg looks at his phone and the new text message which reads:**

*****

**Lock this place down.**

*****

**LESTRADE: Yeah, actually, now you mention it…**

**He stands up. Sherlock pockets his own phone.**

**JOHN: Sherlock, any chance of a – an end date for this speech? Gotta cut the cake.**

**While Greg heads out of the door, Sherlock smiles widely and dances down the aisle, gesturing dramatically.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh! Ladies and gentlemen, can’t stand it when I finally get the chance to speak for once, Vatican Cameos.**

**He directs the last two words directly to John in a conversational way as if they’re a natural part of the sentence. John straightens up in his chair.**

“Was that some sort of signal?” Anderson turned to look at John.

At that, nearly everyone in the room rolled their eyes. “Of course it’s a signal! He used it before, don’t you remember?” Sally said, exasperated.

“He did?”

“Yeah,” John admitted. “The first time actually being when we were at Irene’s. Surely, you remember that. It wasn’t that long ago.”

“So much has happened since then.” Anderson’s face flushed.

“At least you picked it up quicker than Greg, here,” Mycroft said.

Lestrade frowned at him. “Give me a break! I was off-duty!”

**MARY: What did he say? What’s that mean?**

**JOHN (quietly, tugging the bottom of his waistcoat down): Battle stations. Someone’s gonna die.**

**MARY: What?!**

**He puts his hand over hers, silently shushing her. Sherlock turns to look at the guests, where all the men are tagged with the ”MAYFLY MAN?” question again.**

**MYCROFT (in the Council Chamber): Narrow it down.**

**At the reception, Sherlock grimaces, his eyes screwed tightly shut.**

**MYCROFT (in the Council Chamber): Narrow it down.**

**Sherlock blinks in the reception room, lowering his head and screwing his eyes shut again.**

**MYCROFT (in the Council Chamber): Narrow. It. Down.**

“You know, you’re not actually being very helpful,” Mrs. Hudson scolded Mycroft.

A deep sigh escaped his nose. “I hardly see it as my problem that my brother chooses to use me as a strategy in his crime-solving, nor can I control how he does so.”

**Standing in front of him in the Chamber, Sherlock roars loudly with frustration and rage and slaps himself hard on the right cheek. In the reception room, he does the same.**

**SHERLOCK (loudly, angrily): No!**

**In both worlds, he slaps his left cheek.**

**SHERLOCK: (loudly, angrily, in the reception room): No!**

“I guess it’s a good thing that he doesn’t care what people think of him,” Molly said.

“Though I’m sure a bunch of people will avoid talking to Mary and me for a while, considering we’re friends with this crazy weirdo,” John said jokingly.

Lestrade laughed. “Yeah. Right, but seeing it from his perspective makes it less strange.

**The tags disappear from above the men’s heads. Sherlock angrily points upwards with the index fingers of both hands.**

**SHERLOCK: Not you! Not you!**

**His mental image of Mycroft doubles then floats away. Sherlock calms down and lowers his hands a little to point his fingers towards the top table.**

**SHERLOCK (quieter): You.**

**John straightens again, looking back at him.**

**SHERLOCK (walking towards him, now pointing at him with just one hand): It’s always you. John Watson, you keep me right.**

**John stands as he walks up to the table.**

**JOHN: What do I do?**

**SHERLOCK: Well, you’ve already done it. Don’t solve the murder. (Intensely) Save the life.**

**Drawing in a sharp breath through his nose, he turns towards the guests again with a manic grin on his face.**

**SHERLOCK: Sorry. Off-piste a bit. Back now. (High-pitched) Phew!**

“Has he always been this childish?” Sally whispered. She’d never noticed it before. Was this John Watson’s doing, or not? She recalled moments even as far back as their first case together where Sherlock would act this way, but only recently had he become more comfortable acting as such in public. Even back during what John had so lovingly dubbed “A Study in Pink”, Sherlock had waited until Lestrade left after announcing a case to voice his excitement. Now, he was acting like a child, dancing down the aisles and making funny voices in the middle of a room full of people.

**He claps his hands together and looks down at the floor, dropping the smile.**

**SHERLOCK: Let’s play a game.**

**He raises his eyes while lowering his head a little more, staring intensely out into the room.**

**SHERLOCK: Let’s play Murder.**

**Behind him, John sits down again. Sherlock prowls forward, his eyes flickering around the room at the guests.**

**MRS. HUDSON (disapprovingly): Sherlock.**

**SHERLOCK (steepling his hands in front of his chin as he progresses forward): Imagine someone’s going to get murdered at a wedding. Who exactly would you pick?**

**MRS. HUDSON: I think you’re a popular choice at the moment, dear.**

**SHERLOCK (gesturing behind him): If someone could move Mrs. Hudson’s glass just slightly out of reach, that would be lovely.-**

“Um…why? So she doesn’t drink any more, or so she doesn’t kill him with it?” Anderson was getting a bit worried.

“It could honestly go either way, I think,” John said.

**-More importantly, who could you only kill at a wedding?**

**He turns back to look at the guests and gives each one – both the men and the women – a new tag reading, “TARGET?” A line leads from each tag down to the relevant person and at the end of that line, a small white bullseye overlays their body.**

“Well, _that_ wasn’t very smart. He just doubled the number of people he’d have to narrow down,” Sally said with a scoff.

“Not so,” Mycroft replied. “It is far easier to narrow down all of the guests for a target than to rifle through them for the murderer.”

The others weren’t sure what to be more shocked about – the fact that Mycroft was talking so much, or that he was bothering to explain. Either way, they weren’t sure that they’d get used to the extra input any time soon.

**SHERLOCK: Most people you can kill any old place. As a mental exercise, I’ve often planned the murder of friends and colleagues.**

“What the-!” Sally started to say, only for Anderson’s hand to come out of nowhere to slap across her face.

“Shhh!” he shushed her, “It’s just getting good!”

She had to fully restrain herself from biting him and settled instead of just staring at him like he was even crazier than Sherlock.

**Rubbing his hands together in an Evil Genius sort of way, he walks back along the room, then gestures towards John.**

**SHERLOCK: Now John I’d poison.**

**Mary nervously looks across to her husband.**

**SHERLOCK: Sloppy eater – dead easy. I’ve given him chemicals and compounds – that way, he’s never even noticed. He missed a whole Wednesday once, didn’t have a clue. Lestrade’s so easy to kill, it’s a miracle no-one’s succumbed to the temptation. (He turns and heads towards the back of the room again.) I’ve got a pair of keys to my brother’s house – I could easily break in there and asphyxiate him.**

Anderson was still stuck on Lestrade’s murder. “Who would be tempted to murder someone just based on the fact that it would be easy to do so?”

Lestrade shrugged. “You’d be surprised.”

“You forget that this is the man who didn’t expect two old people in Sherlock’s flat to be his _parents_ , even when we said that’s probably who they were. He’d be surprised by _anything_ ,” Sally retorted.

**He makes strangling gestures with his hands, then seems to realize that he may have gone too far.**

**SHERLOCK: …if, if the whim arose.**

Mycroft frowned.

**TOM (quietly to Molly): He’s pissed, isn’t he?**

“Will you shut up?” Sally sighed. “Honestly, I preferred it when Moriarty was her boyfriend!”

Everyone just stared at her like she was crazy.

**Without even looking around at him, Molly stabs a plastic fork onto the back of his hand.**

**TOM (grabbing at his hand): Ow!**

Laughter broke out throughout the entire room. Even Mycroft had to abandon his downturned lips for a small smile.

**SHERLOCK: So, once again, who could you only kill here?**

**He turns and faces the guests again. A few of the chairs nearest him are now suddenly empty but still have their “TARGET?” tag pointing to the seats. He twirls his fingers and the tags disappear.**

**SHERLOCK: Clearly, it’s a rare opportunity, so it’s someone who doesn’t get out much.**

**The camera angle changes and more guests – and their tags – have vanished.**

**SHERLOCK: Someone for whom a planned social encounter known about months in advance is an exception. Has to be a unique opportunity.**

**He turns around and more of the guests have gone.**

Lestrade’s eyes widened. “It’s Major Sholto, isn’t it?” He turned to John. “That’s what you’ve been hinting at the whole time, isn’t it?”

John’s eyebrows knitted together. “How could we be hinting at it? We didn’t even know until now. We _still_ don’t know if it’s him.”

“But you _have_ been. You’ve been talking about how he doesn’t get out much and he’s living off in the middle of nowhere and he gets more death threats than Sherlock. How could we _not_ know that he’d the target?”

John was once again left speechless, and he was even more embarrassed than when it was Anderson of all people who left him like that.

**SHERLOCK: And since killing someone in public is difficult…**

**He turns again, and more guests have disappeared.**

**SHERLOCK: …killing them in private isn’t an option. Someone who lives in an inaccessible or unknown location, then.**

**He turns again, and all the visible seats are now empty.**

“Who is it?” And yet, Anderson was still confused.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Sally snarled at him sarcastically. “God, you’re a bloody idiot…”

**SHERLOCK: Someone private, perhaps, obsessed with personal security.**

**One final “TARGET?” tag drifts into view as he walks forward. It is pointing at the only person left in the room. Sherlock turns to face him. It is Major Sholto.**

**SHERLOCK: Possibly someone under threat.**

**The question mark beside the word in the tag disappears, and then the word itself fades out. The bullseye superimposed over Sholto’s body flashes red for a moment and then also disappears. As if sensing Sherlock’s gaze, Sholto turns and looks at him. Sherlock stares back at him.**

*****

**FLASHBACK. 221B LIVING ROOM.**

**SHERLOCK: Major James Sholto. Who he?**

**MARY: I don’t think he’s coming.**

**JOHN: He’ll be there.**

*****

**FLASHBACK. EARLIER AT THE RECEPTION.**

**JOHN: Where are you living these days?**

**SHOLTO: Oh, way out in the middle of nowhere.**

*****

**FLASHBACK. ON THE PARK BENCH OUTSIDE THE BARRACKS.**

**JOHN (to Sherlock): The press and the families gave him hell. He gets more death threats than you.**

*****

“I knew it!” Lestrade whispered excitedly. “I knew it was him!”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Congratulations.”

**At the reception, everyone is back in the room. Sherlock tries to act nonchalantly as he walks over to a nearby table and picks up one of the name cards on it while pulling a pen on a chain from his waistcoat.**

**SHERLOCK: Ooh! A recluse, small household staff.**

*****

**FLASHBACK TO THE COUNCIL CHAMBER.**

**SHERLOCK: Job.**

**GAIL: Gardener.**

**CHARLOTTE: Cook.**

**TESSA: Private nurse.**

**VICKY: Maid.**

*****

**SHERLOCK (writing on the name card in the reception room): High turnover for additional security.**

*****

**FLASHBACK TO THE COUNCIL CHAMBER.**

**ROBYN: I do security work.**

*****

**SHERLOCK (walking over to Sholto’s table and casually dropping the name card down in front of him before walking away): Probably all signed confidentiality agreements.**

*****

**FLASHBACK TO THE COUNCIL CHAMBER.**

**SHERLOCK: Do you have a secret you’ve never told anyone?**

**ALL THE WOMEN (simultaneously): No.**

*****

**SHERLOCK (at the reception): There is another question that remains, however – a big one, a huge one: how would you do it? How would you kill someone in public?**

**Sholto picks up the name card and looks at the writing on it. It reads:**

*****

**IT’S YOU**

*****

**SHERLOCK: There has to be a way. This has been planned.**

**ARCHIE (excitedly jumping up from his chair): Mr. Holmes! Mr. Holmes!**

Lestrade’s eyes widened. “If this kid solves the crime before Sherlock does, I’m going to—”

“Quit?” Sally supplied.

He looked at her, then contemplated the young boy. “Yeah, sure, I’ll do that.” The screen had helpfully paused before the boy could continue.

Anderson took his chance to say, “Has anyone else noticed that even though Sherlock is awful at remembering names and actively avoids children, he makes an exception for Archie? Do you think he’ll take the boy on as his apprentice?”

John was quiet for a moment. “You know, he probably will.”

The screen un-paused.

**SHERLOCK (stopping and turning to him): Oh, hello again, Archie. (He bends forward to get more down to Archie’s level.) What’s your theory? Get this right and there’s a headless nun in it for you.**

“Was he really that blatant in front of Archie’s mother?”

**ARCHIE: The invisible man could do it.**

**SHERLOCK (very quick fire): The who, the what, the why, the when, the where?**

**ARCHIE: The invisible man with the invisible knife. The one who tried to kill the Guardsman.**

Lestrade was speechless. That little boy had actually done it. He’d _actually_ solved the case before Sherlock! At least, his theory was probably what would lead Sherlock to discovering _exactly_ what the whole case was about. What luck that the two cases that Sherlock told them about in his speech would tie in perfectly with the murder that was about to happen at John's wedding. He’d said just moments before that the world was never so lazy as to create a coincidence, but other than divine fate, that was exactly what this situation had to be.

Meanwhile, Anderson was just thinking, _“Why can’t I be helpful like that?”_ Because he’s Anderson. That’s why.

**Sherlock gasps and straightens up, his eyes wide. In his mind he’s standing in front of his information wall at 221B, looking at all the wedding plans stuck up behind the sofa. He zooms in on a wedding invitation pinned to the wall, announcing the wedding at St Mary’s Church, Sutton Mallet on Saturday 18th May at 12 o’clock and after.**

**He moves to look at his list of things to do and focuses on the word “Venue.” There’s a brief shot of the outside of the reception room. He looks at the word “Venue” again and this time sees an image of the barracks and soldiers parading outside.**

**He shifts his focus to the word “Plan” and then sees a close-up of Private Bainbridge standing on guard outside the barracks, his gaze fixed on the three tourists over the road as they walk away and reveal the stalker.**

**Sherlock moves his eyes to look at the word “Rehearsal.” In a flashback, the Duty Sergeant walks into the shower room and raps on the cubicle door, calling Bainbridge’s name before he sees the slumped body and bloodstained water.**

**Sherlock zooms in on the word “Rehearsal” and grimaces.**

Lestrade’s eyes widened yet again. “Bainbridge was just a test? He was just some random victim?” He felt outraged.

**In the reception room, Major Sholto gets to his feet, picks up his ceremonial sword propped against a nearby window and turns to walk towards the door. Sherlock turns his head away, closing his eyes for a moment. Then he opens them again.**

**SHERLOCK (softly): Oh, not just planned. Planned and rehearsed.**

**He turns and watches as Sholto reaches the door and starts to open it. Sherlock turns back and heads quickly towards the top table, swiping someone’s champagne glass from a table as he goes.**

**SHERLOCK: Ladies and gentlemen, there will now be a short interlude.**

**He skids to a halt in front of the top table and turns and holds up his glass.**

**SHERLOCK: The bride and groom!**

**A little uncertainly this time, the guests stand up and raise their glasses.**

**GUESTS: The bride and groom.**

“God, this whole thing has been a mess of ups and downs and side to sides,” John muttered. At least he could say that his wedding wasn’t boring, but he had to admit that he would’ve had to be crazy to think that any event involving Sherlock Holmes would be anything but a madhouse.

**Instantly Sherlock turns back and bends down to John.**

**SHERLOCK: Major Sholto’s going to be murdered. I don’t know how or by whom, but it’s going to happen.**

**He turns and starts making his way through the guests who are now blocking the aisle.**

**SHERLOCK: ’Scuse me, coming through!?**

**John quickly turns and takes Mary’s head in one hand and kisses her.**

**SHERLOCK (pushing through the crowd): Consulting!**

Mrs. Hudson smiled, slightly amused by Sherlock’s pardons.

“Those poor guests,” Molly mumbled next to her. “They have no idea that this is what it’s normally like to be around Sherlock.”

**JOHN (to Mary): Stay here.**

**MARY: Please be careful.**

**John gets up and starts making his own way through the guests.**

**JOHN: ’Scuse me. Coming through! ’Scuse me.**

**Mary hesitates for only a few seconds, then jumps up and follows him.**

“Oh, come on, Mary!” John protested.

**MARY (to the guests): Sorry, one more. Whoops! So sorry! Thank you!**

**The guests murmur and chatter to each other in confusion.**

*****

**Upstairs, Major Sholto opens the door to his bedroom and walks in. He lays his sword on the bed and then undoes the zip around his suitcase. Lifting the lid and laying it back, he picks up a folded shirt on the top of the contents and puts it down inside the lid. On top of the rest of his clothing is a large pistol. He picks it up.**

Lestrade crossed his arms. “Let’s just hope that Sherlock can remember his room number so you can get to him in time.”

*****

**Downstairs, on a half-landing partway up the staircase, Sherlock stands with the tips of his fingers against his temples and his eyes screwed closed. John paces impatiently beside him.**

**JOHN: How can you not remember which room? You remember everything.**

Lestrade was shocked. “What?”

“Why are they just standing there? How could Sherlock not have that room specifically filed away? He should’ve _known_ that something was going to happen!”

John turned around to face Sally angrily. “So, first you call him a freak for being smart and now you’re judging because he’s being human? Make up your mind already!” he seethed.

**SHERLOCK (irritably): I have to delete something!**

**Mary runs around the corner and pelts up the stairs in between them, holding up her skirt with one hand to stop herself tripping over it.**

**MARY: Two oh seven.**

**The boys chase after her, and Sherlock quickly overtakes her. She takes John’s hand and they hurry after him. Reaching the second floor, Sherlock knocks on the door of Room 207 and tries the handle.**

**SHERLOCK (rattling the door handle): Major Sholto? Major Sholto!**

“Is it even the right room?” Molly fretted.

**He slams the flat of his right hand repeatedly against the door.**

**SHERLOCK: Major Sholto!**

**SHOLTO (sitting on a chair beside the bed and speaking loudly enough to be heard through the door): If someone’s about to make an attempt on my life, it won’t be the first time. I’m ready.**

**John walks towards the door. Sherlock steps back, shaking out his right hand and flexing the fingers.**

**JOHN: Major, let us in.**

**MARY: Kick the door down.**

**SHOLTO: I really wouldn’t. I have a gun in my hand and a lifetime of unfortunate reflexes.**

“Then just put the gun down, you idiot!” John yelled at his former commanding officer.

**SHERLOCK (walking closer to the door again): You’re not safe in there. Whoever’s after you, we know that a locked room doesn’t stop him.**

**SHOLTO: “The invisible man with the invisible knife.”**

**SHERLOCK: I don’t know how he does it, so I can’t stop him, and that means he’ll do it again.**

**SHOLTO (sternly): Solve it, then.**

**SHERLOCK: I – I’m sorry?**

**SHOLTO: You’re the famous Mr. Holmes. Solve the case. On you go.**

**Sherlock straightens up, his eyes rapidly flickering from side to side.**

**SHOLTO: Tell me how he did it and I’ll open the door.**

Anderson’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull. “That’s a lot of pressure…” he mumbled. He continued mumbling, wondering how Sherlock would solve the case. There was no new information, so he would just have to pull the clues right out of his own memory and hope that his brain had acted on its own to store the correct information. He was starting to think that if this was the kind of pressure that was put on Sherlock, maybe he _didn’t_ want to be like him. With that reputation, people were beginning to expect that he could solve anything, and while that had its up-sides, it also had this one major flaw.

**John steps forward again.**

**JOHN: Please, this is no time for games. Just let us in! You’re in danger!**

**SHOLTO: So are you, so long as you’re here.**

**Mary watches Sherlock as he paces back and forth across the landing.**

**SHOLTO: Please, leave me. Despite my reputation, I really don’t approve of collateral damage.**

**MARY (to Sherlock): Solve it.**

**He stops and looks at her.**

**SHERLOCK: Sorry?**

**MARY: Solve it, and he’ll open the door, like he said.**

“Yeah, it sounds easy when you say it like that, but there’s more to it,” Sally growled.

“He can do it.”

Everyone turned to look at Mrs. Hudson, who had her face set in a determined expression of complete and utter faith in her tenant-turned-son. None of them, save Mycroft, knew how she could be so sure of Sherlock, but they just had to put their trust in him like Sholto, Mary, and Mrs. Hudson had.

**SHERLOCK: If I couldn’t solve it before, how can I solve it now?**

**MARY: Because it matters now.**

Molly gasped. “That’s right!” she exclaimed. “He can solve it because it matters now!”

**SHERLOCK: What are you talking about? (He looks at John.) What’s she talking about? Get your wife under control.**

“What he said,” Anderson agreed. “What in the world are you two talking about?”

“They’re right, though,” John said, perfectly in sync as his on-screen counterpart said:

**JOHN: She’s right.**

Anderson was still confused – as always.

John just rolled his eyes. “Sherlock has always worked best when there’s a time limit – when there’s pressure. Remember Moriarty and the pips? The star painting? _The game is on_ ; that’s what fuels him. The high he gets from the case is what helps him figure it out.”

**SHERLOCK: Oh, you’ve changed!**

**JOHN: No, she is. (He turns and points at him.) Shut up. You are not a puzzle-solver – you never have been. You’re a drama queen.**

**Sherlock’s mouth drops open and he stares at him.**

**JOHN (louder): Now, there is a man in there about to die. (Sarcastically) “The game is on.” (Angrily, pointing at the door.) Solve it!**

“Way to give your friend a pep talk, John,” Molly joked.

**Sherlock bares his teeth at him, then his eyes suddenly snap upwards. He can see Private Bainbridge in full uniform standing at attention against a white background. Bainbridge rotates as if standing on a turntable, and Sherlock’s vision zooms in to the man’s white webbing belt.**

**The image changes to Major Sholto in his dress uniform rotating on the invisible turntable, and again the view zooms in on his white webbing belt.**

**Sherlock then recalls the waiter in the kitchen downstairs reaching down to take hold of the skewer pushed through the middle of the joint of beef.**

**In the shower room at the barracks, Bainbridge unclips his belt.**

**The waiter slowly begins to pull the skewer out of the joint.**

**Bainbridge unwraps his belt from around his waist.**

**The skewer comes free of the joint, and blood and juice stream out of the hole.**

**Bainbridge stumbles slightly, looking uncomfortable.**

**Blood continues to pour from the hole in the beef joint.**

**The duty sergeant knocks on the door of the shower cubicle, calling Bainbridge’s name. Bainbridge is slumped on the floor inside and bloodstained water pours out under the door.**

Anderson was once again dumbfounded. Completely dumbfounded. This time, however, Sally joined him in his world of bewilderment.

“I can’t believe that actually worked…” she grunted.

**Outside Sholto’s bedroom Sherlock – who had closed his eyes during the memories – opens them again. He steps over to Mary, takes hold of her head in both hands and kisses her forehead.**

**SHERLOCK (releasing her, then pointing towards John): Though, in fairness, he’s a drama queen too.**

**MARY: Yeah, I know.**

Lestrade shrugged. “Can’t argue with that. You _were_ being pretty dramatic.”

John grumbled a few unintelligible words under his breath.

**John frowns. Sherlock goes over to the door and speaks loudly.**

**SHERLOCK: Major Sholto, no-one’s coming to kill you. I’m afraid you’ve already been killed several hours ago.**

**SHOLTO: What did you say?**

**SHERLOCK: Don’t take off your belt.**

**SHOLTO: My belt?**

**SHERLOCK (turning around and talking to the other two): His belt, yes. Bainbridge was stabbed hours before we even saw him, but it was through his belt.**

**Brief flashback of Sholto clipping his belt together when he got dressed for the wedding.**

**SHERLOCK: Tight belt, worn high on the waist. Very easy to push a small blade through the fabric and you wouldn’t even feel it.**

**John is nodding his understanding.**

**JOHN: The-the belt would bind the flesh together when it was tied tight…**

**SHERLOCK: Exactly.**

**JOHN: …and when you took it off…**

**SHERLOCK: Delayed action stabbing. All the time in the world to create an alibi.**

**He shakes the door handle.**

**SHERLOCK: Major Sholto?**

“He’s going to open the door, though, right?” Molly asked, sounding suddenly worried. The door wasn’t opening. What was going on? Why would he just change his mind like that? “He promised he’d open the door when Sherlock solved it.”

**SHOLTO: So – I was to be killed by my uniform. How appropriate.**

**He stands up and looks at himself in the mirror on the wall.**

**MARY: He solved the case, Major. You’re supposed to open the door now. A deal is a deal.**

“Come on! Come on!” Anderson was urging. “A _deal_ is a _deal_!”

**SHOLTO: I’m not even supposed to have this anymore. They gave me special dispensation to keep it. I couldn’t imagine life out of this uniform. I suppose – given the circumstances – I don’t have to.**

**He carefully tosses the pistol onto the bed and then looks into the mirror again.**

“He put the gun down; now’s your chance to kick down the door, John! Go on, do it!” Sally insisted, gesturing to the door.

“I know I’m sitting right here, but he can’t hear you. You know that, right?” John asked, somewhat annoyed.

“Yes!” she snapped. “but it’s just so…Argh!” She curled her fingers together, shaking them angrily.

**SHOLTO: When so many want you dead, it hardly seems good manners to argue.**

**He puts his right hand to the belt fastener and tightens his fingers ready to unclip it.**

**JOHN: Whatever you’re doing in there, James, stop it, right now. I will kick this door down.**

**SHOLTO: Mr. Holmes, you and I are similar, I think.**

**John turns away from the door and Sherlock walks closer.**

**SHERLOCK: Yes, I think we are.**

**SHOLTO: There’s a proper time to die, isn’t there?**

**SHERLOCK: Of course there is.**

**SHOLTO: And one should embrace it when it comes – like a soldier.**

**SHERLOCK (firmly): Of course one should, but not at John’s wedding. We wouldn’t do that, would we – you and me? We would never do that to John Watson.**

“He has a point,” Mycroft agreed. “Though all this sentimentality is making my tea go sour.” He frowned down at the cup of fresh, hot English tea in his hand. Where had that come from?

**Sholto closes his eyes. Outside, Sherlock steps away from the door and John walks closer, leaning towards the door and listening for any sound from the room. He straightens up and takes off his jacket.**

**JOHN: I’m gonna break it down.**

**MARY: No, wait, wait, you won’t have to.**

**JOHN: Hmm?**

**The door opens. Sholto glances briefly at Sherlock, then lowers his eyes before looking at John.**

**SHOLTO: I believe I am in need of medical attention.**

**JOHN: I believe I am your doctor.**

**He follows Sholto as he turns and goes back into the room. Giving Sherlock a quick smile, Mary follows him. Sherlock closes his eyes for a moment, then follows them.**

Everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief.

“That was awful,” Molly admitted.

“You sure are right, dear,” Mrs. Hudson concurred.

**EVENING. An orchestral rendition of the waltz “On the Beautiful Blue Danube” by Johann Strauss II can be heard. In the foyer of the wedding venue, Sherlock and Janine are waltzing alone. Sherlock is counting time.**

**SHERLOCK: One, two, three; der, der, der… Ahh, pretty good.**

**JANINE: Ooh!**

**They stop dancing.**

**SHERLOCK (releasing her): Just…hold your nerve on your turning.**

**JANINE (adjusting the top of her strapless bridesmaid’s dress): Why do we have to rehearse?**

“Why are they even dancing in the first place?” Anderson whispered.

John frowned at him. “Um…because it’s a wedding and they’re the best man and maid of honour? It’s tradition for them to dance.”

**SHERLOCK (leaning in and speaking confidentially): Because we are about to dance together in public, and your skills are appalling!**

**He smiles at her and she laughs.**

**JANINE: Well, you’re a good teacher.**

**SHERLOCK: Mmm.**

**JANINE: And you’re a brilliant dancer.**

**SHERLOCK (quietly, leaning towards her again): I’ll let you in on something, Janine.**

**JANINE (in a whisper): Go on, then.**

**SHERLOCK: I love dancing. I’ve always loved it.**

**JANINE: Seriously?**

“Yeah, seriously?” Sally asked, incredulous.

Mycroft sniffed pointedly. “That was one of the activities from our youth that he actually enjoyed. If he wasn’t out cataloguing bugs and dirt and every other such thing.”

**SHERLOCK (quietly): Watch out.**

**Looking around to make sure that nobody else can see him, he swings both of his arms to the left, takes a sharp breath, rises onto his left foot, and does a full-circle pirouette.**

**JANINE: Ooh! Woah!**

Sally really wanted to laugh, but she refrained. She did _not_ need to be kicked out again just because she laughed at the thought of Sherlock Holmes taking ballet lessons.

**SHERLOCK (clearing his throat): Never really comes up in crime work but, um, you know, I live in hope of the right case.**

“What kind of case would even require him to dance, I wonder…” Molly bit her lip, deep in thought.

**JANINE (sighing wistfully): I wish you weren’t…**

**He turns and looks at her.**

**JANINE: …whatever it is you are.**

**SHERLOCK: I know.**

“Are they…flirting?” Sally asked, appalled. She wasn’t even sure what to think, now. She’d had one image of Sherlock Holmes in her head – set for so long that she’d refused to think of him in any other way, and now he was just breaking stereotype after stereotype. What was she going to do?

**John has just walked into view and has spotted them. He walks over.**

**JOHN: Well, glad to see you’ve pulled, Sherlock, what with murderers running riot at my wedding.**

**He claps his hand on Sherlock’s back.**

**SHERLOCK: One murder... – one nearly murderer. (To Janine) Loves to exaggerate. You should try living with him.**

**The entrance door opens, and Greg comes in.**

**LESTRADE: Sherlock? (He points back out the door.) Got him for you.**

**SHERLOCK (clapping his hands together as the wedding photographer walks in): Ah, the photographer. Excellent! (To Greg) Thank you.**

“Why would he need the photographer to be there? Is the murderer in the photographs? Did he figure it out?” Anderson grew giddy once again. Then, he stopped himself. “Of course he solved it! Of course he figured it out!” he scolded himself.

Sally leaned away from him. He’d been crazy before, but talking to himself was a new milestone that she _really_ hadn’t wanted him to hit.

**He walks over to the photographer and points at the camera he’s holding.**

**SHERLOCK: Er, may I have a look at your camera?**

**PHOTOGRAPHER: Er… (he pulls his camera back nervously but then holds it out to him) …what’s this about? I was halfway home!**

**SHERLOCK (taking the camera): You should have driven faster.**

**He looks at the screen on the back of the camera and starts flicking through the pictures.**

**SHERLOCK: Ah, yes. Yes, very good. There, you see? (He smiles.) Perfect.**

**LESTRADE: What is? You gonna tell us?**

**SHERLOCK (handing the camera to Greg): Try looking yourself.**

**JOHN (walking to Greg’s side): Um, look for what?**

**Janine also walks over. Sherlock strolls closer to the photographer.**

**JOHN (pointing at the camera): Is the murderer in these photographs?**

**SHERLOCK: It’s not what’s in the photographs; it’s what’s not in them – not in any of them.**

**JOHN: Sherlock? The showing-off thing: we’ve discussed it before.**

**SHERLOCK: There is always a man at a wedding who is not in any photograph but can go anywhere, and even carry an equipment bag around with him if he likes, and you never even see his face. (He walks closer to the photographer and looks down towards his hand.) You only ever see…**

**Brief montage of the wedding pictures, and then the photographer going around the reception taking photos.**

**Back in the present, Sherlock rapidly slaps one cuff of a pair of handcuffs around the photographer’s wrist and the other cuff around the frame of a nearby birdcage luggage trolley.**

“Where did he get those handcuffs?” Lestrade almost went to check his pockets, knowing that Sherlock must’ve pickpocketed him, but then he realized that Sherlock was just on a screen and he must’ve pickpocketed the version of him at the wedding. But then…why would _he_ be carrying handcuffs around with him? Always had to be prepared, probably.

**SHERLOCK: …the camera.**

**PHOTOGRAPHER: What are you doing? What is this?**

**SHERLOCK (holding up his phone to show the screen to the others): Jonathan Small, today’s substitute wedding photographer – known to us as the Mayfly Man. His brother was one of the raw recruits killed in that incursion. Jonny sought revenge on Sholto, worked his way through Sholto’s staff, found what he needed…**

“So…wait. Both cases that he talked about _and_ the murder at John’s wedding were interconnected? That’s way too perfect!” Anderson pointed out. “How could the same guy stump Sherlock twice in a row and _then_ almost stump him a third time? Wouldn’t that make him better than Moriarty?”

“Not so.” Mycroft was quick to shoot him down. “Moriarty enjoyed toying with Sherlock far too much. Any case that he left for Sherlock to follow was deliberate. If he didn’t want Sherlock to figure it out, Sherlock wouldn’t even know about it. This man made far to many mistakes to be on Moriarty’s level.”

**Cutaway shot of Small arranging a group of five wedding guests – one of whom is Sholto – for a formal photograph. He is moving the people around so that they can all be seen by the camera which is on a tripod in front of them.**

**SHERLOCK: …an invitation to a wedding – the one time Sholto would have to be out in public. So, he made his plan…**

**Cutaway shot of Small, wearing casual clothes and a cap, outside the gates of the barracks. He moves to stand beside Bainbridge and then holds up a smartphone as if he’s about to take a selfie of himself with the Guardsman.**

**SHERLOCK: …and rehearsed the murder…**

**Cutaway shot of Small with the wedding group, moving to take Sholto by the shoulders to move him into position.**

**SHERLOCK: …making sure of every last detail.**

**Standing behind Sholto, Small holds his shoulder with one hand and puts his other hand down to the back of his belt. We can’t see what he’s holding but we hear a sharp noise as the slender blade punches through the belt and into Sholto’s back.**

**Outside the barracks, still holding his phone up with one hand, Small stands slightly behind Bainbridge and we hear the sharp noise of the blade stabbing through the Guardsman’s belt. Bainbridge jolts slightly and blinks.**

**At the photoshoot, Sholto sways slightly and looks a little uncomfortable. Small glares murderously at him from behind, withdraws his hand and then puts it into his jacket’s inside breast pocket, tucking the blade out of sight.**

**At the barracks, Small walks away from Bainbridge.**

**At the photoshoot, Small gives Sholto one last glare from behind, then walks forward to his camera.**

**Back in the reception foyer, Small looks calmly at Sherlock.**

**SHERLOCK: Brilliant, ruthless, almost certainly a monomaniac – though, in fairness, his photographs are actually quite good.**

**He tosses his phone to Greg.**

**SHERLOCK: Everything you need’s on that. You probably ought to…arrest him or something.**

**Nearby, Mary comes into view, apparently looking for John. She spots him, smiles, and hurries towards him. Janine, standing beside Sherlock, leans closer and speaks quietly without looking at him.**

**JANINE: Do you always carry handcuffs?**

**SHERLOCK: Down, girl.**

Sally gaped. “Okay, I’m calling it. They’re _totally_ flirting!”

**MARY (holding out her hand to John): Come on, quick!**

**She reaches his side and John puts his arm around her as she turns and sees Small nearby. He is looking at Sherlock fixedly.**

**SMALL: It’s not me you should be arresting, Mr. Holmes.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, I don’t do the arresting. (He nods towards Greg.) I just farm that out.**

**SMALL: Sholto – he’s the killer, not me. I should have killed him quicker.**

**He grins maniacally, then his smile fades and he shakes his head.**

**SMALL: I shouldn’t have tried to be clever.**

**SHERLOCK (softly): You should have driven faster.**

“Ooooh, burn!” Anderson yelled.

**He takes his hands from behind his back and crooks one arm to Janine. She takes it and they walk away. John and Mary follow them. Greg looks down at Sherlock’s phone, then looks at Small.**

**LESTRADE: Right…**

*****

**In the reception room, the tables have been cleared away. Looking into each other’s eyes, Mary and John are dancing a slow waltz in the middle of the room to the sound of a single violin while all the guests stand around the edge of the room and watch them. On a low stage at the end of the room, Sherlock is playing his violin. The tune is the same one we heard at the beginning of the episode.**

“He’s playing the song he composed!” Mrs. Hudson squealed excitedly.

**He sways gently while he plays, his eyes fixed on the newlyweds.**

For just a moment, the screen shows Molly standing next to Janine, far away from Tom. Her eyes are red like she’d been crying, and there are still tears in her eyes. It was only for a moment, but Mycroft picked up on it. He didn’t bring attention to it, though, only filed it away in the back of his mind. Would he have to keep a closer eye on this Tom character?

**As the tune draws to an end, John shifts one hand to Mary’s back, holds her by the waist with the other and starts to dip her backwards. Mary gasps.**

**MARY: Really?!**

**Chuckling, he bends her backwards as she giggles. He kisses her as the tune ends. The guests break into applause and some of them cheer. Everyone is looking at the happy couple except Janine who directs her applause towards Sherlock. She whoops at him.**

**JANINE: Yeah!**

Sally rolled her eyes. “She is _way_ too dramatic.”

**Sherlock looks at her for a moment, then turns to the music stand in front of him. He had taken off his buttonhole flower and put it on the stand so that it wouldn’t get in the way while he was playing and now, he picks it up, shows her what he’s holding and then tosses it across the room towards her. She catches it.**

“Something is going to happen between those two,” Sally whispered to herself. “I just know it.” She didn’t know whether to be jealous or just really confused.

**John – who has pulled Mary upright again and is laughing happily – waves his thanks to Sherlock, then kisses Mary again as Sherlock steps to the nearby microphone.**

**SHERLOCK: Ladies and gentlemen, just, er, one last thing before the evening begins properly. Apologies for earlier. A crisis arose and was dealt with.**

**He draws in a breath.**

**SHERLOCK: More importantly, however, today we saw two people make vows. I’ve never made a vow in my life, and after tonight I never will again. So, here in front of you all, my first and last vow. Mary and John: whatever it takes, whatever happens, from now on I swear I will always be there, always, for all three of you.**

**He hesitates momentarily, then stutters.**

“Wait. _What_?” John nearly jumped out of his seat.

**SHERLOCK: Er, I’m sorry, I mean, I mean two of you. All two of you. Both of you, in fact. I’ve just miscounted.**

“There is _no_ way that Sherlock can’t count to two! He’s already forgotten the solar system, but surely _numbers_ would be important enough to not delete?” John continued, stressing nearly every syllable.

**He takes a sharp breath. John and Mary exchange a slightly worried look.**

**SHERLOCK: Anyway, it’s time for dancing. (Over his shoulder to the DJ on the stage) Play the music again, please, thank you.**

**Disco lights begin to flash and Sherlock gestures grandly to the guests as Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons’ song “December, 1963 (Oh What A Night)” starts to play.**

**SHERLOCK: Okay, everybody, just dance. Don’t be shy!**

**He walks down off the stage, still gesturing to the crowd.**

**SHERLOCK: Dancing, please!**

**The guests start to move onto the floor and begin to dance.**

**SHERLOCK: Very good!**

**He walks over to Mary and John who look quizzically at him.**

**SHERLOCK: Sorry, that was one more deduction than I was really expecting.**

**MARY: “Deduction”?**

“She’s pregnant, isn’t she?” Molly asked, looking at John.

He had his head in his hands. “How did I not see it?” he was muttering. “How could I miss it?”

**SHERLOCK (looking intensely at her): Increased appetite…**

**Flashback to Mary taking one of the canapés from the waiter’s tray.**

**MARY (in flashback): Starving.**

**SHERLOCK: …change of taste perception…**

**Flashback to Mary grimacing at her wine glass.**

**MARY (in flashback): Urgh. I chose this wine. It’s bloody awful.**

**SHERLOCK: …and you were sick this morning. You assumed it was just wedding nerves. You got angry with me when I mentioned it to you. All the signs are there.**

**MARY: “The signs”?**

**Sherlock glances across to John then turns his eyes back to her.**

**SHERLOCK: The signs of three.**

**His gaze drops to her abdomen.**

**MARY: What?!**

**SHERLOCK: Mary, I think you should do a pregnancy test.**

**John sighs and drops his head, almost bending over double. Mary grins delightedly at Sherlock.**

**SHERLOCK: W…th…the statistics for the first trimester are…**

**JOHN (straightening up): Shut up.**

**Sherlock freezes in the middle of forming his next word. He looks at John as if waiting for permission to continue.**

This time, Sally can’t hold back her laughter. She is joined by most of the others in the room.

“That face! He looks like a deer in the headlights!” she snorted, shaking her mane of unruly hair.

**JOHN: Just…shut up.**

**SHERLOCK: Sorry.**

**John turns to Mary.**

**JOHN (looking annoyed with himself): How did he notice before me? I’m a bloody doctor.**

**SHERLOCK: It’s your day off.**

**JOHN: It’s your day off!**

**SHERLOCK: Stop-stop panicking.**

**JOHN: I’m not panicking.**

**MARY: I’m pregnant – I’m panicking.**

**SHERLOCK: Don’t panic. None of you panic.**

**The Watsons both look down, their faces full of concern.**

**SHERLOCK: Absolutely no reason to panic.**

**JOHN: Oh, and you’d know, of course?**

**SHERLOCK: Yes, I would. You’re already the best parents in the world. Look at all the practice you’ve had!**

**JOHN: What practice?**

**SHERLOCK: Well, you’re hardly gonna need me around now that you’ve got a real baby on the way.**

Mrs. Hudson giggles quietly. “He’s right, you know,” she pointed out to John.

**John stares, then Sherlock smiles happily at him. John laughs and reaches out to cup the back of his neck. Laughing even more, he turns to his wife and puts his other hand on her shoulder as she begins to smile with delight. Sherlock turns his smile towards Mary, but after a moment the smile begins to fade a little.**

Lestrade – who had been smiling before – frowned. He could see that Sherlock was just realizing the true meaning of his words. Not only was his best friend married, but he also had a baby on the way. Things were going to change, and he was probably worried that it wouldn’t be for the better. He probably thought that John wouldn’t have any time for him anymore.

**JOHN (to Mary): You all right?**

**MARY (a little breathlessly): Yeah.**

**John turns back to Sherlock, smiling joyfully. They look at each other for a long moment, then John breaks the eye contact and they both look a bit awkward. There’s a slightly embarrassed pause for a couple of seconds.**

**SHERLOCK (abruptly): Dance.**

**JOHN: Mm?**

**SHERLOCK: Both of you, now, go dance. We can’t just stand here. People will wonder what we’re talking about.**

**JOHN: Right.**

**Mary reaches out to touch Sherlock’s arm, her voice tearful.**

**MARY: And what about you?**

**JOHN: Well, we can’t all three dance. There are limits!**

**SHERLOCK: Yes, there are.**

**John clears his throat. Still looking tearful, Mary turns to John.**

**MARY: Come on, husband. Let’s go.**

**JOHN (pointing over his shoulder): This isn’t a waltz, is it?**

**She laughs.**

**SHERLOCK: Don’t worry, Mary, I have been tutoring him.**

**JOHN: He did, you know. Baker Street, behind closed curtains.**

**Turning to face her, he takes her right hand with his left and puts his other hand on her waist.**

**JOHN: Mrs. Hudson came in one time. Don’t know how those rumours started!**

Mrs. Hudson clapped like she couldn’t wait to walk in on them dancing – and possibly doing other things behind the closed curtains – together. Lestrade, John, and Molly all rolled their eyes but were still grinning.

**He sniggers. Giggling, she puts her left hand on his shoulder, and they dance off into the crowd. Looking over John’s shoulder, Mary smiles at Sherlock and mouths what may be a ‘thank you.’ He smiles, then nods to her. As his friends dance away, he lowers his eyes, then slowly turns, and looks at everybody dancing all around him, keeping his head lowered as if trying not to meet anyone’s eyes. He looks very lost and alone in the middle of the crowd.**

The mood faded just a little bit. Sherlock looked so much at a loss for what to do. He looked so lonely despite the room being so crowded. Was that how he felt every day without John around? The viewers couldn’t help but wonder.

**After a few moments, however, he seems to have a thought and lifts his head, still looking around but now with more intent. Eventually, he sees Janine dancing some distance away. She is wearing his buttonhole flower pinned to the top of her dress. She looks across the room and smiles at him. Returning her smile he starts to walk towards her, and she lifts her hand and points to her right with her thumb up, grinning happily. Sherlock stops when he realizes that she’s dancing with the ‘comics and sci-fi geek’ he had recommended to her earlier. She turns away and continues to dance with her new friend. Sherlock looks reflective for a few seconds, then turns towards the stage.**

“Oh, come on!” Sally screamed. She was really rooting for Sherlock and Janine to get together. Why? She still wasn’t sure, but she honestly believed that there was something there.

**On the music stand is the hand-written music he played for the newlyweds. In the top right-hand corner is written:**

*****

**Waltz,**

**for Mary & John**

**by**

**Sherlock Holmes**

*****

**Sherlock picks up the music and folds it into an envelope, which he puts onto the stand. Written on the envelope is:**

*****

**Dr. and Mrs. Watson**

*****

**Leaving the stage he walks slowly through the guests. Molly, dancing with Tom and Mrs. Hudson, looks across the room and watches him for a few seconds, then turns back to the others.**

Molly frowned because her on-screen self looked so much like she wanted to follow Sherlock, to at least see how he was doing, but she stayed with Tom as some sort of obligation. Was she really happy with him? You would think that she knew herself better than anyone, but she couldn’t tell – and that scared her, to be honest.

*****

**In the garden outside the reception room, while the revellers dance on, Sherlock puts his coat on and, with the collar turned up to the max, slowly walks away.**

Mrs. Hudson gasped. “He left the wedding early!” She looked absolutely scandalized and immediately began plotting. She could _not_ let her boys fall out from each other. There had to be some way to keep them together if anything happened.

“He’s also doing that thing with his colour and his cheekbones to make himself look cool,” Anderson whispered loudly. “Even though there’s no one around to watch his dramatic exit except for us right now. Do you think he somehow knew we’d see it, or that he just likes to look cool even when no one is watching?”

No one else commented about how crazy that was.

“Seriously, Anderson?”

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	60. 3x3 Part 1 His Last Vow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is as far as I got in this story on Wattpad. From now on, I plan to update on Mondays, but I've been in a bit of a writing slump since the summer and I haven't really written anything new.  
> Please bear with me.

Mycroft had a bad feeling about the next episode. Considering the pattern so far, the next would be the last in the set of three, which prompted him to believe that the “villain”, as Anderson put it, would show himself. That could only mean one thing, and he dreaded it. Still, he said nothing, pointedly ignoring Lestrade’s questioning looks as he schooled his face into the most neutral expression he could manage.

Lestrade wasn’t falling for it, though. He hadn’t seen much of Mycroft’s reactions as of late, but he had them filed away in the back of his mind. Now, Mycroft seemed to be getting antsy again, and Lestrade was hoping to finally understand what was going on with the man. He turned away only as the screen brightened again, but not before seeing the illuminated attempt of “emotionless” that the elder Holmes was portraying.

**The scene opens on a pair of thin-rimmed spectacles lying on top of a table.**

**LADY SMALLWOOD (offscreen): Mr. Magnussen, please state your full name for the record.**

**MAGNUSSEN (in a heavy Danish accent): Charles Augustus Magnussen.**

Mycroft held back a shudder of disgust at the man’s voice. His lip curled.

**We see Lady Smallwood from Magnussen’s viewpoint. She is a woman in her early sixties. She is sitting at another table some distance away, facing him. With his glasses off, his view of the woman is blurred.**

**LADY SMALLWOOD: Mr. Magnussen, how would you describe your influence over the Prime Minister?**

**MAGNUSSEN: The British Prime Minister?**

Not many of the people in the room had ever had any such personal contact with the man on the screen, but already, each and every one of them decided that they hated him. He was a slimy character, like an eel, slithering around in fluid twists and turns, just waiting to strike down its prey.

**LADY SMALLWOOD: Any of the British Prime Ministers you have known.**

**We now see the layout of the room. Magnussen sits alone at a table in a large room. The wall to his left is floor-to-ceiling glass. He is facing three more tables that are laid out in a U-shape. There are eleven people sitting at these tables. Each person has a microphone on a stand in front of them, and the session is being filmed and projected onto a screen behind Lady Smallwood. She sits at the centre of the table facing Magnussen. She is clearly the chairperson of what must be the parliamentary commission to which a rolling news headline referred in “The Empty Hearse” at the same time that the TV news announced that Sherlock was alive. There is a glassed-off viewing gallery at the rear of the room where observers – perhaps mostly journalists – are sitting and watching the proceedings with headphones on their ears. Magnussen answers all his questions in a flat tone, showing no emotion.**

**MAGNUSSEN: I never had the slightest influence over any of them. Why would I?**

**LADY SMALLWOOD (looking through a report on the table in front of her): I notice you’ve had…seven meetings at Downing Street this year. (She looks up at him.) Why?**

**MAGNUSSEN: Because I was invited.**

**LADY SMALLWOOD: Can you recall the subjects under discussion?**

**MAGNUSSEN: Not without being more indiscreet than I believe is appropriate.**

**A man to the right of Lady Smallwood leans forward to his microphone.**

**GARVIE: Do you think it right that a newspaper proprietor, a private individual and, in fact, a foreign national should have such regular access to our Prime Minister?**

**While he has been speaking, Magnussen has picked up his glasses and put them on. As soon as Garvie comes into focus, information appears in front of Magnussen’s eyes in a white font:**

*****

**JOHN GARVIE**

*****

**MP ROCKWELL SOUTH**

**ADULTERER (SEE FILE)**

**REFORMED ALCOHOLIC**

**PORN PREFERENCE: NORMAL**

**FINANCES: 41% DEBT (SEE FILE)**

**STATUS UNIMPORTANT**

*****

**then, in red underneath:**

*****

**PRESSURE POINT: >**

*****

**The last line flashes momentarily.**

Anderson reared back, surprised. “What kind of glasses _are_ those? Secret super spy glasses?”

Mycroft felt his gut twist, but kept up his outer façade, staying silent.

Lestrade made a note of the slight grimace on his face. His eyebrows furrowed. This man was dangerous – he could sense that much, but just how much danger could a newspaper proprietor pose?

**MAGNUSSEN: I don’t think it’s wrong that a private individual should accept an invitation.**

**The line stops flashing and adds further information:**

*****

**PRESSURE POINT: >**

**DISABLED DAUGHTER**

**SEE FILE**

*****

**MAGNUSSEN: However, you have my sincere apologies for being foreign.**

**GARVIE: That’s not what I meant. That is not in any way…**

**LADY SMALLWOOD (talking over him): Mr. Magnussen, can you recall an occasion when your remarks could have influenced government policy or the Prime Minister’s thinking in any way?**

**While she has been speaking, Magnussen has turned his gaze to her, and information immediately appears in front of his eyes.**

*****

**LADY ELIZABETH SMALLWOOD**

**MARRIED**

**SOLVENT**

**FORMER GYMNAST**

**PORN PREFERENCE: NONE**

**VICES: NONE**

*****

**and, in red underneath:**

*****

**PRESSURE POINT: >SEARCHING**

*****

**The line flashes for a moment.**

**Magnussen takes off his glasses and reaches for a small cloth on the table.**

**MAGNUSSEN: No.**

John snarled. “He’s lying.”

“How do you know?” Sally questioned.

“I can feel it,” John replied. He wasn’t sure why, or how, but something about this man didn’t sit right with him. He was too clam, too collected. He was like Moriarty – _he_ could act the same way, and it was unnerving.

**LADY SMALLWOOD: Are you sure?**

**Magnussen pauses while he cleans the lenses on his glasses and then puts them on again. He looks at Lady Smallwood and the information about her reappears in front of his eyes. The basic details about her then disappear leaving just the red line which is no longer flashing and now reads:**

*****

**PRESSURE POINT: >**

**HUSBAND**

*****

**MAGNUSSEN (holding her gaze): I have an excellent memory.**

*****

**DUSK. Ornate electronic gates open across a wide drive, and a black car bearing the licence plate 1 CAM drives through and progresses along the drive which curves across the centre of a small lake.**

Anderson frowned. “They let him go? Just like that? He’s so obviously shady with those glasses!”

Sally rolled her eyes. “You can’t just keep someone in lockup because they _look_ suspicious, you moron.” Aside, she mumbled, “Even though some people out there _do_.”

**At the end of the drive is a large beautiful and almost futuristic-looking house with tall windows and curved walls. At the house, a man in a suit opens the door to Magnussen and he walks into an opulent-looking hall that has walls that are part bare pale grey brick and part plastered in white. The floor is a pale colour and glass panels line the staircases. Magnussen walks downstairs, passing a kitchen which is all pale brown tiling and stainless steel. He progresses to a glass wall with a glass door in it which leads into a room – possibly a study – which has a table inside on which are some slender and strange-looking ornaments. He goes in and walks across to a double set of wooden doors. He pauses for a moment, then opens them.**

**He walks down a light brown wooden spiral staircase, again lined with glass panels. Further down, the spiral staircase becomes narrower and is now made of light grey metal. The stairs lead into a large library. The shelves are full of files and ledgers. He walks through the stacks, his fingers raised and flicking towards various shelves as if he is trying to remember where he has put something specific.**

**At the rear of the library, the room becomes familiar to us and we realize that this is the place where the man we now know to be Magnussen watched the footage of Sherlock rescuing John from the bonfire at the end of “The Empty Hearse.” It is dark and creepy in this area and the grotesque dolls, stuffed animals and unpleasant-looking sculptures are still on display. Magnussen goes to a rotating card index and flicks through it until he finds what he wants, then he moves on and soon afterwards we see him looking at a file that has a photograph of Lady Smallwood paperclipped to the inside. He smiles a little. Next to her photograph is a picture of a man of around her age, and now Magnussen slides under the paperclip a photo of a beautiful girl who appears to be in her late teens. The girl has ornately coiffed hair and is wearing a strappy white top and is looking directly into the camera, clearly posing for the photograph.**

**Not long afterwards, Magnussen is sitting in a chair facing a large wall. A film projector whirrs beside him and the photograph of the girl is now being projected onto the wall. He is holding the original photograph in one hand and looking at it. After a moment he raises the photo to his mouth and runs one corner slowly down his bottom lip.**

Lestrade peered closely at the screen. They’d seen that room somewhere before, but where? It was grating on his soul

*****

**Sometime later Lady Smallwood is sitting at a table in a room that has several other tables and chairs scattered around. It’s possible that this room is in an exclusive club similar to The Diogenes Club. She is looking at paperwork. A smartly dressed attendant speaks to a man near the door.**

**ATTENDANT: Your car’s waiting outside, sir. See you tomorrow.**

**The man leaves. Magnussen is sitting in an armchair some feet away from the table. Lady Smallwood puts down her papers and pen and looks across to Magnussen as he stands up and walks across the room towards her.**

“How did she not see him before?” John wondered.

Everyone was silent. It seemed that every scene with this uncomfortable man would be wrought with tension.

**MAGNUSSEN: May I join you?**

**LADY SMALLWOOD: I don’t think it’s appropriate.**

**MAGNUSSEN: It isn’t.**

**He goes over to a wheeled chair nearby and rolls it across to the side of her table.**

**LADY SMALLWOOD: Mr. Magnussen, outside the enquiry we can have no contact, no communication at all.**

**Magnussen sits down, then reaches out and grasps her hand.**

All of the women in the room bristled.

**LADY SMALLWOOD: Please don’t do that.**

**MAGNUSSEN: In 1982 your husband corresponded with Helen Catherine Driscoll.**

**LADY SMALLWOOD: That was before I knew him.**

**MAGNUSSEN: The letters were lively, loving – some would say explicit – and currently in my possession.**

**LADY SMALLWOOD: Will you please move your hand?**

**MAGNUSSEN (narrating part of one of the letters): “I long, my darling, to know the touch of your… (he pauses briefly, then continues) …body.”**

**LADY SMALLWOOD: I know what was in the letters.**

**MAGNUSSEN: She was fifteen.**

**LADY SMALLWOOD: She looked older.**

**MAGNUSSEN: Oh, she looked delicious. We have photographs, too – the ones she sent him. (He smacks his lips.) Yum, yum.**

**LADY SMALLWOOD: He was unaware of her age. He met her only once before the letters began. When he discovered the truth, he stopped immediately. Those are the facts.**

**MAGNUSSEN: Facts are for history books. I work in news.**

**LADY SMALLWOOD: Your hand is sweating.**

**MAGNUSSEN: Always, I’m afraid. I have a condition.**

**LADY SMALLWOOD: It’s disgusting.**

**MAGNUSSEN: Ah, I’m used to it. (He strokes his finger across the top of her hand.) The whole world is wet to my touch.**

Everyone recoiled at the words. Mycroft was completely tense, eyes narrowed, and lip curled in hatred.

**LADY SMALLWOOD: I will call someone. I will have you removed.**

**She tries to withdraw her hand from his, but he clamps his fingers around it.**

**MAGNUSSEN: What is that?**

**He gently lifts her hand, turns it over and then clamps his fingers around it again as he raises her wrist towards his face and sniffs it.**

**MAGNUSSEN: Claire de la Lune? (He looks up at her.) A bit young for you, isn’t it?**

**She pulls her hand free and flails towards him, but he seizes her arm and holds it still.**

**MAGNUSSEN: You want to hit me now? Could you, still? You’re an old lady now. Perhaps you should settle for calling someone.**

**She tugs her hand free and this time he releases it. She looks away.**

**MAGNUSSEN: Well? Go on.**

**She continues to look away.**

**MAGNUSSEN: No? Because now there are consequences. I have the letters and therefore I have you.**

**LADY SMALLWOOD: This is blackmail.**

“That man should be arrested!” Lestrade ground out. He was ready to just stand and walk out of there – to slap a pair of handcuffs on that sick-minded man, but Mycroft stopped him with a few simple words.

“He cannot be arrested.”

Everyone froze, turning to him in surprise.

Lestrade glared, not caring who Mycroft was. “Why not? He’s obviously got files on _everyone_ he’s ever had an interest in and he’s using it for his own personal gain! Blackmail is a serious offence.”

**MAGNUSSEN: Of course it isn’t blackmail. This is…ownership.**

**She turns to glare at him.**

**LADY SMALLWOOD: You do not own me.**

**The attendant walks across the room towards them but stops some distance away. Magnussen’s eyes turn briefly as if hearing his footsteps but otherwise he takes no notice of him. Instead, he half-rises, leans towards Lady Smallwood, sticks out his tongue and runs the tip of it up the side of her face. She cringes. He sits back down.**

Cries of outrage filled the room. Mycroft sat silently, brooding as everyone else looked just about ready to tear apart the screen they were watching that horrid man on.

**MAGNUSSEN: Claire de la Lune.**

**He picks up a paper napkin from the tray on her table, sticks his tongue out again and rubs the napkin over it.**

**MAGNUSSEN: It never tastes like it smells, does it?**

**Lady Smallwood stares ahead of herself. He puts the napkin down, gives her one last look and then stands and walks away.**

**MAGNUSSEN (to the attendant): Lady Smallwood’s bill is on me. See to it.**

**ATTENDANT: Yes, Mr. Magnussen.**

**Lady Smallwood lowers her head and lets out a shuddering breath.**

*****

**Later, she is being driven home. Sitting in the back of her Rolls Royce, she is holding an open compact mirror in one hand and has a handkerchief pressed to the side of her face where Magnussen licked it. She breathes out shakily.**

**LADY SMALLWOOD (quietly): Oh, God.**

**Her chauffeur looks in his rear-view mirror at her.**

**CHAUFFEUR: You all right, ma’am?**

**LADY SMALLWOOD: Fine, yes.**

**She lowers the handkerchief and looks at herself in her compact mirror.**

**LADY SMALLWOOD (softly, angrily): Magnussen.**

**Furiously she snaps the compact closed.**

**LADY SMALLWOOD (louder, but to herself): No-one stands up to him. No-one dares. No-one even tries.**

**She picks up her ornate bottle of Claire de la Lune perfume from her handbag and starts spraying herself with it.**

**LADY SMALLWOOD: There isn’t a man or woman in England capable of stopping that disgusting creature…**

**She stops, staring out of the window for a moment.**

**CHAUFFEUR: Ma’am?**

**LADY SMALLWOOD: Turn the car around. We’re going back into town. Turn around.**

**The chauffeur does a U-turn and starts driving back the way they just came.**

**CHAUFFEUR: Where are we going, ma’am?**

**LADY SMALLWOOD: Baker Street.**

John swore. “Because _no one_ would be crazy enough to stand up to _that man_ but Sherlock!” He sounded exasperated because he knew more than anyone (aside from maybe Mycroft) how much Sherlock loved to find trouble – or perhaps how much trouble loved to find Sherlock.

*****

**John and Mary are asleep in bed, Mary’s hand resting on top of John’s on top of the covers. John’s hand twitches as his dream flashes back to his time in Afghanistan and he hears gunfire and explosions and sees his comrades fall and grimace in pain around him.**

Mrs. Hudson reached over and put a gentle hand on John’s shoulder. When he turned to her, she smiled softly.

**He shakes his head in his sleep and his dream moves to a flashback of Sherlock during their first meeting at Baker Street.**

**SHERLOCK (in the dream): Seen a lot of injuries, then? Violent deaths?**

**JOHN (in the dream): Enough for a lifetime.**

**In the Watsons’ bedroom, there’s a pounding sound nearby, as if someone is knocking on the front door.**

**SHERLOCK (in the dream): Wanna see some more?**

**JOHN (in the dream): Oh, God, yes.**

**The banging sound comes again, and John jolts and sits up in bed. Half asleep, in his mind’s eye he can see Sherlock looking intensely at him.**

**SHERLOCK: The game is on. (He smiles.)**

**John wakes up properly and throws back the covers.**

**Now wearing a dressing gown over his nightclothes, he goes to the front door where someone is still knocking. He opens the door and sees a woman standing there looking back at him. She has clearly been crying for some time.**

**WOMAN (tearfully): I know it’s early. (She starts to cry.) Really, I’m sorry.**

“Who’s this lady?” Sally asked.

“Probably my neighbour,” John replied flatly.

**John stares at her a little blankly. Mary comes into view at the end of the hall, putting on her dressing gown. She peers down the hall.**

**MARY: Is that Kate?**

**JOHN: Y-yeah, it’s Kate.**

**Kate sobs, holding a paper tissue to her nose.**

**MARY: Invite her in?**

**JOHN: Er, sorry, yes. D-d’you wanna come in, Kate?**

**He steps aside, and Kate walks down the hall towards Mary, still crying.**

**MARY (sympathetically): Hey…**

*****

**Later, Mary and Kate are sitting on the sofa. Mary is stroking Kate’s arm while she continues to cry.**

**MARY: It’s all right.**

**John comes over and puts two mugs onto the coffee table.**

**JOHN: There you go.**

**MARY (to John): It’s Isaac.**

**JOHN (to Kate): Ah, your husband.**

**MARY: Son.**

**JOHN: Son, yeah.**

“Despite the clients that you and Sherlock have had over the years, you’re still no better at talking to people, John,” Lestrade pointed out.

“Maybe if I hadn’t just woke up…” John groused. It seemed that he’d taken up Sherlock’s role in dealing with people, while Mary had slid right into his former role.

**KATE: He’s gone missing again. Didn’t come home last night.**

**Mary lets out a sympathetic sigh and looks at John.**

**MARY: The usual.**

**JOHN: He’s the drugs one, yeah?**

**He starts to pace back and forth. Kate breaks down in tears again.**

**MARY: Er, yeah, nicely put, John.**

**JOHN: Look, is it Sherlock Holmes you want? Because I’ve not seen him in ages.**

**MARY: About a month.**

**John continues pacing, the fingers of his left hand twitching.**

**KATE: Who’s Sherlock Holmes?**

Anderson blanched. “Okay, I can believe that she didn’t go to them directly for Sherlock, but how could she _not_ know who he is? And—” he turned to face John, “why haven’t you seen him for a whole month? Was it because he left your wedding early?”

John frowned at him, generally annoyed by the accusation. “How am I supposed to know?"

**MARY (looking at John): See? That does happen.**

**KATE: There’s a – a place they all go to, him and his…friends.**

**(Cutaway close-up of someone cooking-up a drug in a spoon with a lighter held underneath. Nearby, someone blearily props their head on their hand.)**

**KATE (voiceover): They all…do whatever they do…**

**The first person clicks the lighter closed.**

**KATE: …shoot up, whatever you call it.**

**JOHN: Where is he?**

**KATE: It’s a house. It’s a dump. I mean, it’s practically falling down.**

**JOHN: No, the address.**

“You’re not going after him, are you, John?” Molly asked. Her lips were puckered in disappointment.

**Mary turns and looks at him.**

**JOHN: Where, exactly?**

*****

**Shortly afterwards John is dressed and walking down the path outside the house and heading towards their car parked at the curb. Mary, still in her pyjamas and dressing gown, is following him.**

Sally looked at Molly. “It seems he is. Going after the kid, I mean.”

**MARY: Seriously?**

**JOHN (turning back to her): Why not? She’s not going to the police. Someone’s got to get him.**

**MARY (stopping at the gate as John continues on): Why you?**

**JOHN: I’m being neighbourly.**

**MARY: Since when?**

**JOHN (chuckling briefly): Since now. Since this exact minute.**

**MARY: Why are you being so…?**

**She twirls her hands expressively.**

**JOHN (stopping at the driver’s door and turning back to her): What?**

**MARY: I dunno. What’s the matter with you?**

“It’s because of that dream, right?” Lestrade asked.

John shrugged, shuddering. He had enough of the flashbacks in dreams – he didn’t need to _watch_ himself have them.

**JOHN (loudly): There is nothing the matter with me. (Quickly, less forcefully) Imagine I said that without shouting.**

**MARY: I’m trying.**

**She walks briskly towards the passenger side of the car.**

**JOHN: No, you can’t come. You’re pregnant.**

**MARY: You can’t go. I’m pregnant.**

“That makes no sense, but the argument is somehow still solid,” Anderson muttered.

**She opens the passenger door and gets in, shutting the door. John looks away for a moment, then gets into the car.**

*****

**Later, they have parked on a piece of concreted waste ground outside the address Kate gave them. John opens the boot of the car and takes out something, then walks round to the passenger side. Mary laughs and points at what he’s tucking into the top of his jeans.**

**MARY: What is that?!**

**JOHN: It’s a tire lever.**

**MARY: Why?**

**JOHN (nodding towards the house): ’Cause there were loads of smackheads in there, and one of them might need help with a tire. —**

Sally barked out a laugh. “Seriously, John?” she asked, wiping a tear from her eye. She kept laughing for another whole minute, Lestrade, Anderson, Molly, and Mrs. Hudson joining in. (Mrs. Hudson was the loudest, sounding yet again like a dying owl – as the others would describe.)

**—If there’s any trouble, just go. I’ll be fine.**

**He turns and starts to walk towards the house, but Mary gets out of the car.**

**MARY: Er, John, John, John, John.**

**He stops and turns back to her.**

**MARY: It is a tiny bit sexy.**

**JOHN (nonchalantly): Yeah, I know.**

Lestrade raised his eyebrow at John.

**He walks across to the front door of the house, which has a large sign stuck to the front of it saying, “PRIVATE PROPERTY. KEEP OUT,” and bangs loudly on the door.**

“Slow motion,” Anderson acknowledged, bobbing his head. “Cool.”

**JOHN: Hello?**

**The door is opened by a young man wearing a jacket with the hood pulled up over his head. He looks scruffy and dirty.**

**BILL: What d’you want?**

**JOHN: ’Scuse me.**

**He barges his way in and walks down the hall.**

“At least you said excuse me first,” Mrs. Hudson said, “but you shouldn’t go barging into people’s houses like that! Any number of nutters could be in there!”

“That’s what the tire iron was for,” John replied.

**Bill looks outside for a moment, then turns towards John.**

**BILL: Naah, naah, you can’t come in ’ere!**

“Twenty bucks says you find someone else here,” Lestrade whispered to John.

John turned to him, confused. “Who would I find?”

Lestrade shrugged, but he had a fairly good idea. Back in the day, Sherlock wasn’t above going undercover, especially if the case was about someone as creepy and uncomfortable as Magnussen. He just hoped that Sherlock stayed under _cover_ and not under the influence.

**JOHN (looking into a room as he walks past): I’m looking for a friend.**

**He continues on, looking into doorways as he goes.**

**JOHN: A very specific friend – I’m not just browsing.**

**Reaching the last room, he looks in there and then starts walking back again.**

**BILL: You’ve gotta go. No-one’s allowed ’ere.**

**JOHN (stopping several paces away from Bill and clearing his throat): Isaac Whitney. You seen him?**

“You’re so nonchalant…” Anderson was in awe. How could John just waltz into a place like that and not show any signs of nervousness? Was it his soldier training? Time with Sherlock? Whatever it was, he liked watching it – almost as much as he liked watching Sherlock work.

**Bill takes a flick-knife from his pocket and snaps the blade open, holding it towards John.**

**JOHN: I’m asking you if you’ve seen Isaac Whitney, and now you’re showing me a knife. Is it a clue?**

Anderson was grinning. “You know, that’s kind of b*****.”

**Bill gestures with his knife towards the open door behind him.**

**JOHN: Are you doing a mime?**

Lestrade chuckled. Despite the tension of the situation, John just cut through it with sarcastic humour. They needed to see more of this side of him.

**BILL: Go. Or I’ll cut you.**

**JOHN: Ooh, not from there. Let me help.**

As the John on the screen started to walk closer to the deranged man, everyone tensed.

“What the bloody ‘ell d’you think you’re doing?” Lestrade shouted.

John shrugged. “I was a soldier; I’ve got everything under control.”

“How can you be sure, dear?” Mrs. Hudson asked, worried.

“He’s relaxed. He knows how to handle it,” Molly answered for John.

**He walks towards him, stopping close enough to Bill that he could stab him if he wanted to. Bill stares back at him wide-eyed.**

**JOHN (now in full soldier mode): Now, concentrate. (Slowly, precisely) Isaac Whitney.**

**BILL: Okay, you asked for it.**

**Before Bill can even think about moving, John lashes out with his left hand, seizing Bill’s right arm and slamming his right hand down onto the arm. As Bill cries out in pain John wraps his right hand round the front of Bill’s neck and slams him against the wall, then uses his right foot to sweep Bill’s feet from under him. Bill slumps to the floor and John steps back. Bill chokes and groans in pain. John bends down and picks up the flick-knife which has fallen to the floor.**

Sally swore. Rather loudly.

**JOHN: Right.**

**He squats down beside Bill.**

**JOHN: Are you concentrating yet?**

**BILL: You broke my arm!**

**JOHN: No, I sprained it.**

**He looks all around to make sure there’s no-one else nearby.**

**BILL: It feels squishy! Is it supposed to feel squishy?**

Lestrade was laughing again. “Poor sod.”

John rolled his eyes. “He _was_ asking for it.”

**He holds out his right arm to John.**

**BILL: Feel that!**

**John reaches out and squeezes the arm. Bill groans.**

**JOHN: Yeah, it’s a sprain. I’m a doctor – I know how to sprain people.**

Anderson turned to John with wide eyes.

**He releases the arm. Bill groans.**

**JOHN: Now where is Isaac Whitney?**

**BILL: I don’t know!**

**John gives him a look.**

**BILL: Maybe upstairs.**

**JOHN: There you go. (He pats Bill’s leg.) Wasn’t that easy?**

**He stands up and walks towards the stairs.**

**BILL (grumpily): No. It’s really sore. You’re mental, you are.**

“No,” Lestrade disagreed. “Just an adrenaline junkie looking for his fix.” He looked pointedly at John as the latter huffed.

**JOHN (pocketing the flick-knife as he goes): No. Just used to a better class of criminal.**

**He walks up the stairs and into a large room at the top. Several people are lying or sitting on mattresses around the edge of the room. All of them look very stoned and unaware of what’s going on in the real world. Grimacing, John walks slowly across the room.**

**JOHN: Isaac? Isaac Whitney?**

**He walks over towards two people lying side by side on mattresses.**

**JOHN (quietly): Isaac?**

**One of them tiredly raises a hand. The young man gazes blearily up at John as he walks to his side and kneels down beside him.**

**JOHN: Hello, mate.**

**He puts a supporting hand behind his back.**

**JOHN: Sit up for me? Sit up.**

**He helps him to sit, then lifts one of his eyelids. The boy’s eyes roll uncontrollably, and he tries to focus on John.**

**ISAAC: Doctor Watson?**

**JOHN (lifting his other eyelid): Yep.**

**ISAAC: Where am I?**

“Poor boy.” Mrs. Hudson shook her head, clicking her tongue.

Molly frowned. She would never understand why people would do that to themselves.

**JOHN: The arse-end of the universe with the scum of the Earth. Look at me.**

**ISAAC (blearily): Have you come for me?**

**JOHN: D’you think I know a lot of people here?**

**Isaac laughs hazily.**

**JOHN: Hey, all right?**

**On the mattress to Isaac’s right and behind John, another person – wearing jogging bottoms and a jacket with the hood up – rolls over, props himself onto one elbow and looks round to them.**

“Wait—!” Sally sat up straighter in her chair. “Is that—?”

“I think it is…” Anderson leaned forward.

Meanwhile, Lestrade elbowed John, who scowled at him. He swore.

**SHERLOCK (for it is he): Ah, hello, John.**

**John raises his head, his eyes widening.**

**SHERLOCK: Didn’t expect to see you here.**

**He pushes his hood back as John turns round to look at him. Sherlock squinches up his eyes and peers at him.**

**SHERLOCK: Did you come for me, too?**

**John looks at him for a second, then his eyes begin to narrow.**

Anderson winced at the look on John’s face. “Oooh! Sherlock is _not_ in for a good time.”

*****

**Outside shortly afterwards, Isaac stumbles over to the car where Mary is now sitting in the driver’s seat.**

**MARY: Hallo, Isaac.**

**ISAAC (blurrily): Mrs. Watson, can I – can I get in, please?**

**MARY (pointing her thumb behind her): Yes, of course, get in. Where’s John?**

**ISAAC (opening the rear car door): They’re ’avin’ a fight.**

**MARY (urgently): Who is?**

**Over at the house, on the first-floor landing of the fire escape, Sherlock angrily punches open a temporary door which had been nailed across a doorway, knocking it off all its nails and sending it crashing across the fire escape.**

**SHERLOCK (angrily): For God’s sakes, John! I’m on a case!**

**JOHN (following him down the fire escape): A month – that’s all it took. One.**

**Halfway down, Sherlock vaults over the side of the fire escape and onto a wall beside it.**

Anderson wasn’t sure what he was looking at. “Is he high? ‘Cause if he is, he’s incredibly coordinated.”

Lestrade frowned. “Not sure.” He recalled the times in their past that he’d encountered Sherlock when he was high. It was incredibly hard to tell back then, too.

**SHERLOCK: I’m working.**

**He jumps down onto the top of a wheelie bin beside the wall and then down onto another one laying on its side before stepping to the ground. John follows.**

**JOHN: Sherlock Holmes in a drug den! How’s that gonna look?**

**SHERLOCK: I’m undercover.**

**JOHN: No you’re not!**

**SHERLOCK (gesticulating angrily): Well, I’m not now!**

Though upset that Sherlock was back on the drugs, a few people chuckled at his overdramatic actions.

**Mary has driven the car quickly towards the house, and she pulls up alongside them with a squeal of brakes.**

**MARY (sternly): In. Both of you, quickly.**

**John gets into the passenger seat while Sherlock gets into the seat behind him. Bill hurries over towards the car, cradling his hurt arm. Mary sighs in exasperation at her boys, then turns to look through the front windscreen at the new arrival standing in front of the car.**

**BILL: Please. Can I come? I think I’ve got a broken arm.**

“It’s not broken, you doofus!” Anderson insisted.

**MARY: No. Go away.**

**JOHN: No, let him.**

**MARY: Why?**

**JOHN (to Bill, leaning out of the open side window and pointing towards the rear of the car): Yeah, just get in. It’s a sprain.**

**Bill runs around the side of the car.**

**MARY: Anyone else? I mean, we’re taking everybody home, are we?**

**Sighing, Sherlock shifts to the centre of the rear seat to give Bill some room. Bill gets in and looks over at him.**

**BILL: All right, Shezza?**

“What the hell kinda name is that?” Sally questioned, half laughing and half incredulous.

**JOHN (incredulously): “Shezza”?**

**SHERLOCK (tetchily): I was undercover.**

**MARY: Seriously – “Shezza,” though?!**

“Funny how she’s not angry at all, just amused,” Molly muttered.

**Sherlock sighs again.**

**JOHN: We’re not going home. We’re going to Bart’s. I’m calling Molly.**

**In the rear seat, Sherlock is wiping some of the dirt off his face with a handkerchief.**

**MARY: Why?**

**JOHN (holding his phone to his ear and turning to look over his shoulder at his friend before directing the rest of the sentence to Mary): Because Sherlock Holmes needs to pee in a jar.**

**Sherlock lowers his handkerchief and closes his eyes with exasperation. Mary drives them all away.**

*****

**Later, in the lab at Bart’s, Molly is finishing her tests on Sherlock’s urine sample. He is standing nearby, leaning back against the central bench, and looking sulky. On the other side of the lab, Bill is sitting on a side bench while Mary is wrapping a bandage around his arm. Isaac is also sitting nearby. Molly takes off her gloves with two loud snaps.**

Molly frowned at seeing herself take the gloves off improperly. It must’ve been her anger.

**JOHN: Well? Is he clean?**

**Throwing her gloves down, Molly turns to him.**

**MOLLY: Clean?**

“From the look on your face, I’m going to say no,” John said, looking at Molly.

**She turns and walks over to face Sherlock, then slaps him hard around the face with her right hand.**

Everyone jumped in surprise. Even Mycroft looked a little startled.

**Mary, Bill, and Isaac look over to them in surprise. Molly slaps him again just as hard and then, for good measure, slaps him again with her left hand. Sherlock blinks and grimaces.**

They all wince in sympathy for Sherlock – except for Molly, who had her arms crossed and was scowling.

**MOLLY: How dare you throw away the beautiful gifts you were born with?**

**She glances briefly towards John and then looks back at Sherlock.**

**MOLLY: And how dare you betray the love of your friends? Say you’re sorry.**

“Whoo! Go, Molly!” Anderson cheered quietly but turned beet red as everyone – including Molly – looked over at him questioningly.

**SHERLOCK (holding his face): Sorry your engagement’s over – though I’m fairly grateful for the lack of a ring.**

Molly actually growled. Why did he have to play this game? Could he not stop himself?

**MOLLY: Stop it. (Angrily) Just stop it.**

**John storms towards him, his face stern but his voice low.**

**JOHN: If you were anywhere near this kind of thing again, you could have called, you could have talked to me.**

**SHERLOCK: Please do relax. This is all for a case.**

**Mary, still wrapping Bill’s arm, shakes her head.**

**JOHN: A ca… What kind of case would need you doing this?**

**SHERLOCK: I might as well ask you why you’ve started cycling to work.**

John rolled his eyes. “Clearly, he’s not drugged up enough to stop his deductions,” he groused.

**JOHN (shaking his head): No. We’re not playing this game.**

**He turns and walks away.**

**SHERLOCK: Quite recently, I’d say. You’re very determined about it.**

**JOHN: Not interested.**

**BILL: I am.**

“Who is this guy again?” Anderson asked. The young man seemed like he was going to say something important. Why would he be interested in John cycling to work?

**Sherlock turns to look at him. Bill looks down at Mary.**

**BILL: Ow.**

**MARY: Oh, sorry. You moved. But it is just a sprain.**

**BILL: Yeah. Somebody ’it me.**

**MARY: Huh?**

**Bill turns his head to look at John.**

**BILL: Eh, just some guy.**

**JOHN: Yeah, probably just an addict in need of a fix.**

**SHERLOCK (pointedly, looking directly at John): Yes. I think, in a way, it was.**

Lestrade chuckled. “They all know it’s you, John. No need to keep up the charade.”

**John holds his eyes for a moment, then looks away.**

**BILL: Is it his shirt?**

Anderson paused, struck by the question. “Did that guy just…deduce John?” he wondered.

No one else spoke because at that point it wasn’t clear, but now they were all thinking it. Could he have?

**SHERLOCK (looking at him): I’m sorry?**

**BILL: Well, it’s the creases, innit?**

**He looks across to John. Sherlock does likewise and zooms in on the creases in his shirt.**

**BILL: The two creases down the front. It’s been recently folded but it’s not new.**

**Sherlock smiles slightly.**

**BILL: Must have dressed in a hurry this morning…**

**Flashback to John in his bedroom, folding a shirt on top of the bed.**

**BILL: …so all your shirts must be kept like that.**

**John stares at him in confusion.**

**BILL: But why? Maybe ’cause you cycle to work every morning, shower when you get there an’ then dress in the clothes you brought with you.**

**Sherlock looks at him, clearly impressed.**

**BILL (still looking at John): You keep your shirts folded…**

**Flashback to John, in his bedroom, putting the folded shirt into a small backpack.**

**BILL: …ready to pack.**

Several people were impressed. This random drug addict could do what Sherlock did? To a much lesser scale, obviously, as he must’ve not had as much practice with it, but surely, he was born with the same talent of observation. Anderson was more than a bit jealous.

**SHERLOCK: Not bad.**

**BILL (still looking at John): An’ I further deduce…**

Anderson gasped; he was excited and surprised by the use of Sherlock’s famous word.

**Sherlock raises his eyebrows, and he and John exchange a brief glance.**

**BILL: …you’ve only started recently because you’ve got a bit of chafing.**

**John looks down at his body.**

**SHERLOCK: No – he’s always walked like that. Remind me – what’s your name again?**

**BILL: They call me The Wig.**

**SHERLOCK: No they don’t.**

**BILL (awkwardly): Well, they-they call me Wiggy.**

**SHERLOCK: Nope.**

**BILL (hesitating, then looking down): Bill. Bill Wiggins.**

“And still Mary is just standing there, completely amused by everything,” Lestrade observed, grinning. He elbowed John again. “You could learn a bit from her.”

**SHERLOCK: Nice observational skills, Billy.**

**His phone sounds a text alert. He takes out the phone and looks at the message.**

**SHERLOCK: Ah! Finally.**

**MOLLY: “Finally” what?**

**BILL: Good news?**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, excellent news – the best.**

**He turns and heads for the door, working on his phone.**

**SHERLOCK: There’s every chance that my drug habit might hit the newspapers. The game is on.**

**Raising his phone to his ear as he reaches the door, he turns and looks around the room briefly.**

**SHERLOCK: Excuse me for a second.**

**He leaves the room.**

“Why would he _want_ his drug habit to hit the papers?” Anderson questioned.

Lestrade frowned. “Maybe because the guy he’s chasing owns a newspaper?” he suggested, rolling his eyes. If John hadn’t seen Sherlock in a month, then the incident between Magnussen and Lady Smallwood must’ve been that far back.

*****

**Later, he and John are alone in the back of a taxi. Sherlock is still in his scruffy clothes, so it appears they have gone directly from Bart’s.**

**SHERLOCK: You’ve heard of Charles Augustus Magnussen, of course.**

**JOHN: Yeah. Owns some newspapers – ones I don’t read.**

**Sherlock frowns and looks around the cab and then out of the back window.**

**SHERLOCK: Hang on – weren’t there other people?**

“You’re just noticing that now?” John asked rhetorically. He rolled his eyes. “Why am I not surprised?”

“I’m just surprised that he noticed it at all,” Molly added.

**JOHN: Mary’s taking the boys home; I’m taking you. We did discuss it.**

**Sherlock raises his eyes upwards as if trying to remember.**

**SHERLOCK: People were talking, none of them me. I must have filtered.**

Lestrade snorted, unable to keep his body from rocking forward as he suppressed a laugh.

**JOHN: I noticed.**

**SHERLOCK: I have to filter out a lot of witless babble. I’ve got Mrs. Hudson on semi-permanent mute.**

Mrs. Hudson gasped in mild outrage.

**The journey continues and the taxi eventually pulls up outside 221B Baker Street. As soon as he sees the closed front door, Sherlock lets out an exasperated sigh.**

**SHERLOCK: What is my brother doing here?**

“How could he tell that you were there?” Anderson whispered, eyeing Mycroft cautiously.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “I’d say because he insists on arranging his knocker to the right. I tend to correct the error every time I visit.”

**He gets out and heads for the front door. John calls after him.**

**JOHN (tetchily): So I’ll just pay, then, shall I?**

**Sherlock goes up onto the doorstep and glares at the door knocker.**

**SHERLOCK: He’s straightened the knocker.**

**He turns to John as he gets out of the cab.**

**SHERLOCK: He always corrects it. He’s OCD. Doesn’t even know he’s doing it.**

**He deliberately pushes the door knocker to one side, then lets himself in.**

**JOHN: Why’d you do that?**

**SHERLOCK: Do what?**

**JOHN: Nothing.**

“Sherlock doesn’t even know he’s doing it either. Do you think there’s such a thing as reverse OCD?” Anderson wondered.

“Probably not,” Sally replied.

**They go inside, John shutting the door behind him, and Sherlock opens and goes through the inner door, then stops and rolls his eyes at the sight of Mycroft sitting on the stairs.**

**MYCROFT: Well, then, Sherlock. Back on the sauce?**

**SHERLOCK: What are you doing here?**

**JOHN: I phoned him.**

**MYCROFT: The siren call of old habits. How very like Uncle Rudy – though, in many ways, cross-dressing would have been a wiser path for you.**

Lestrade snorted once again. “Did you just say your brother looks like a girl?” he asked, laughing as he looked at Mycroft.

“You can’t say I’m incorrect in my analysis,” he sniped back.

Lestrade shrugged. “Well, Sherlock’s curls are exceptionally long right now.”

**SHERLOCK (folding his arms and directing his comment to John without looking at him): You phoned him.**

**JOHN: ’Course I bloody phoned him.**

**MYCROFT: ’Course he bloody did. Now, save me a little time. Where should we be looking?**

**SHERLOCK: “We”?**

**ANDERSON’s VOICE (from upstairs): Mr. Holmes?**

**In the kitchen, Anderson closes the door to one of the cupboards in the kitchen.**

“You got your job back?” No one was more surprised than Sally, who spun around to look at Anderson in complete shock.

Anderson was almost equally as surprised. Hadn’t he had that breakdown? Or was Sherlock sharing the horribly bland story of his false death the thing he needed to kick some sense back into him?

**SHERLOCK (furiously): For God’s sake!**

**He storms up the stairs, Mycroft sliding sideways on his step to get out of his way. Mycroft and John exchange a look and John blows out a breath as Mycroft leans on his umbrella to push himself to his feet.**

**Sherlock goes into the kitchen and glares at Anderson who is with a female colleague called Benji.**

**SHERLOCK (angrily): Anderson.**

**ANDERSON (raising his gloved hands apologetically): I’m sorry, Sherlock. It’s for your own good.**

“At least you’re more polite to him, now,” Mrs. Hudson said, finally smiling at Anderson.

“And not completely off-your-rocker-nuts,” Sally added under her breath.

**Looking annoyed, Sherlock drops his keys onto the kitchen table. Benji stares at him.**

**BENJI: Oh, that’s him, isn’t it?**

**Sherlock turns and storms towards his armchair, where another member of the ‘search team’ is sitting and reading a book. The man scrambles out of the chair, putting the book onto the table beside it, and hurries away. Sherlock flips up his hood and climbs into the chair.**

**BENJI: You said he’d be taller.**

**MYCROFT (coming into the kitchen and looking towards Sherlock): Some members of your little fan-club. Do be polite. They’re entirely trustworthy and even willing to search through the toxic waste dump that you are pleased to call a flat.**

“Do I work your Mycroft now?” Anderson raised his eyebrows.

**Sherlock has curled up sideways in his chair and now lays his head on one of the arms, closing his eyes.**

**MYCROFT: You’re a celebrity these days, Sherlock. You can’t afford a drug habit.**

**SHERLOCK (opening his eyes and looking at him, irritated): I do not have a drug habit.**

**John’s attention is focussed on a large space between Sherlock’s chair and the kitchen. He points.**

**JOHN: Hey, what happened to my chair?**

**SHERLOCK: It was blocking my view to the kitchen.**

“Wow. That’s kind of petty,” John said with a frown.

**JOHN (turning to Mycroft): Well, it’s good to be missed!**

**SHERLOCK: Well, you were gone. I saw an opportunity.**

**JOHN: No, you saw the kitchen.**

**Mycroft turns to Anderson.**

**MYCROFT: What have you found so far? Clearly nothing.**

**SHERLOCK: There’s nothing to find.**

**MYCROFT (turning toward the hallway behind the kitchen): Your bedroom door is shut.**

**Sherlock sighs.**

**MYCROFT (slowly walking along the hallway): You haven’t been home all night. So, why would a man who has never knowingly closed the door without the direct orders of his mother bother to do so on this occasion?**

“What’s in there?” Anderson asked, looking at Mycroft. Obviously, he would know. “Drugs?”

Mycroft frowned. “That’s what you’d like to think, but I do believe…” he trailed off.

**Sherlock has raised his head and flipped back his hood while Mycroft progressed. Now Mycroft reaches the door and puts his hand on the doorknob. Sherlock hurls himself up into a sitting position.**

**SHERLOCK: Okay, stop! Just stop.**

**Mycroft turns the knob but doesn’t open the door.**

**SHERLOCK: Point made.**

**JOHN: Jesus, Sherlock.**

**Mycroft releases the doorknob and comes slowly back along the hall.**

**MYCROFT: Have to phone our parents, of course, in Oklahoma.**

**Sherlock looks down and closes his eyes.**

**MYCROFT: Won’t be the first time that your substance abuse has wreaked havoc with their line-dancing.**

**Sighing, Sherlock stands up and walks closer to his brother.**

**SHERLOCK: This is not what you think. This is for a case.**

**MYCROFT: What case could possibly justify this?**

**SHERLOCK: Magnussen.**

**Mycroft’s slight smile drops.**

Lestrade turned in his chair to stare at Mycroft in shock. “Wait, so you didn’t know? Sherlock’s been on the case for what I’d say is a month and you didn’t know about it?”

Mycroft just closed his eyes and breathed a whistling sigh out of his nose.

**SHERLOCK: Charles Augustus Magnussen.**

**Mycroft draws in a breath and turns to Anderson and Benji.**

**MYCROFT: That name you think you may have just heard – you were mistaken. If you ever mention hearing that name in this room, in this context, I guarantee you – on behalf of the British security services – that materials will be found on your computer hard drives resulting in your immediate incarceration. Don’t reply – just look frightened and scuttle.**

Anderson leaned away from Mycroft. “Maybe I _don’t_ want to work for you after all…”

Mycroft glared at them all. “The same goes for all of you once we’ve finished with this. I should not hear of any sensitive information witnessed here to be mentioned at all upon our release from this room.” He gave each of them a few seconds of his icy stare, instilling fear.

Lestrade, however, grinned, unfazed. Mrs. Hudson, Molly, and John weren’t the least bit frightened of Mycroft’s threat – not because they thought he couldn’t follow through, but because they knew how he was like.

**Anderson immediately ushers Benji out of the kitchen and follows her onto the landing, closing the door behind him. Mycroft turns back to where John is standing beside Sherlock.**

**MYCROFT: I hope I won’t have to threaten you as well.**

**JOHN: Well, I think we’d both find that embarrassing.**

**Sherlock snorts laughter, turning his head away.**

**MYCROFT (sternly to Sherlock): Magnussen is not your business.**

**SHERLOCK (turning back and pointing at his brother): Oh, you mean he’s yours.**

**MYCROFT: You may consider him under my protection.**

**SHERLOCK: I consider you under his thumb.**

“What does he have on _you_?” Lestrade asked, turning to Mycroft. He didn’t even flinch at the glare sent his way.

**MYCROFT (quietly, ominously): If you go against Magnussen, then you will find yourself going against me.**

**SHERLOCK (nonchalantly): Okay. I’ll let you know if I notice.**

**He strolls towards the kitchen door.**

**SHERLOCK: Er, what was I going to say? Oh, yeah.**

**He opens the door.**

**SHERLOCK: Bye-bye.**

**He points the way out. Mycroft walks around him, then turns to face him.**

**MYCROFT: Unwise, brother mine.**

**Immediately Sherlock seizes Mycroft’s left arm just below the elbow. Twisting his arm up behind his back, he slams his brother face-first against the wall beside the kitchen door. Mycroft cries out in pain. Sherlock breathes rapidly, his voice venomous.**

Everyone is startled by Sherlock’s sudden aggression, even Mycroft’s eyebrows flare upward in shock.

**SHERLOCK: Brother mine, don’t appal me when I’m high.**

“So he _is_ high!” Anderson broke the tension.

**John hurries over to Mycroft’s side.**

**JOHN (softly but very firmly, watching Sherlock’s face all the time): Mycroft, don’t say another word. Just go. He could snap you in two, and right now I am slightly worried that he might.**

“You just admitted that Sherlock could take down Mycroft when he’s high!” Anderson whispered, giggling wildly.

“Why are you like this?” Sally asked him.

**Mycroft pushes himself free of his brother’s grip and holds his left arm in pain. Sherlock turns and walks away. Mycroft turns towards him.**

**JOHN (to Mycroft): Don’t speak. Just leave.**

**Mycroft lowers his right arm. John looks down towards the floor.**

**JOHN: Oh.**

**He bends down and picks up Mycroft’s umbrella which he had dropped. Straightening up again, he offers it to him, clearing his throat. Mycroft snatches it from his hand and leaves. In the living room, Sherlock is stretching and rubbing the back of his neck. John turns and walks towards him.**

**JOHN: Er, Magnussen?**

**SHERLOCK: What time is it?**

**JOHN: About eight.**

**Sherlock sniffs deeply and sighs out a disgusted breath.**

**SHERLOCK: I’m meeting him in three hours. I need a bath.**

**He walks through the kitchen towards the hallway.**

**JOHN: It’s for a case, you said?**

“Why are you still surprised by this?” Mrs. Hudson asked him. “You know what he’s like.” Still, she was worried about eh young man. She hoped he wasn’t going to get in too deep with this case – he was already diving off the deep end and she dreaded to think what would happen if he had to go further.

**SHERLOCK: Yep.**

**JOHN: What sort of case?**

**SHERLOCK: Too big and dangerous for any sane individual to get involved in.**

**JOHN: You trying to put me off?**

**SHERLOCK: God, no.**

**With his hand on the knob of the bathroom door, he looks back at John.**

**SHERLOCK: Trying to recruit you.**

“Because John’s a junkie, too?” Sally asked, eyeing John.

**He gives him a small smile and goes into the bathroom.**

**SHERLOCK (offscreen): And stay out of my bedroom.**

**The bathroom door closes. John immediately starts to walk across the kitchen towards the bedroom.**

Lestrade laughed. “Aaaand, of course, you immediately go for his bedroom to investigate. Come on, John.”

“Wouldn’t you do the same?” John challenged.

“I might,” Lestrade admitted, winking.

**He has just reached the hallway when the bedroom door opens and a familiar face peers out.**

“Is that Janine?” Sally shrieked, alarmed.

Molly’s whole body seized, and she growled before she could stop herself. _That_ woman? Hadn’t she gone off with that _nerd_ at the wedding? Though she should’ve been over him by now, the green-eyed monster of jealousy ripped itself a new nest behind her ribcage.

**JANINE: Oh, John, hi.**

**Opening the door wider, she laughs in an embarrassed way, pulling down the bottom of the shirt she’s wearing. She’s not wearing anything on her legs.**

**JANINE: How are you?**

**JOHN (staring at her in disbelief): Janine?**

**JANINE: Sorry. Not dressed.**

**She heads towards the kitchen, John standing aside to let her pass.**

**JANINE: Has everybody gone? I heard shouting.**

**JOHN: Yes, they’re gone.**

**JANINE (looking at her watch): God, look at the time. I’ll be late.**

**She goes over to the worktop and picks up a cafetiere.**

**JANINE: Sounded like an argument. (She turns to John.) Was it Mike?**

“Mike?” Sally looked at John. “Stamford?” She was confused. Why would _he_ be there?

**JOHN: Mike?**

**JANINE: Mike, yeah. His brother, Mike. They’re always fighting.**

**JOHN: Mycroft.**

**JANINE: Do people actually call him that?!**

**JOHN: Yeah.**

**JANINE: Huh! Oh, could you be a love and put some coffee on?**

**JOHN: …Sure, right, yeah.**

**JANINE (heading back towards the hallway): Thanks.**

**She stops and puts a hand briefly on John’s shoulder.**

**JANINE: Ooh, how’s Mary? How’s married life?**

**JOHN: She’s fine. We’re both fine, yeah.**

**He turns and walks towards a cupboard. Janine points in another direction.**

**JANINE: Oh, it’s over there now.**

**She looks around.**

**JANINE: Where’s Sherl?**

**JOHN (breathing out the name with a bemused look on his face): Sherl!**

Everyone else had the same reaction, completely baffled.

At least Molly had calmed down a bit. “He’s playing her, isn’t he?” she asked, praying that she kept the hopeful tone out of her voice.

“How would you be able to tell? How do we know you don’t just wish that to be true? This could be real,” Anderson countered.

Molly scowled at him. “Considering how differently Sherlock treats her from the rest of you – who he actually cares for – it’s fairly simple to realize that this is fake.”

Sally rolled her eyes. “Keep telling yourself that. These two _definitely_ had some chemistry at John’s wedding in the last episode.”

“It’s true! Sherlock and Janine are _not_ together. And they’re _not_ episodes!”

**Grinning and clearing his throat, he turns back to her.**

**JOHN: He’s just having a bath. I’m sure he’ll be out in a minute.**

**JANINE: Oh, like he ever is!**

**JOHN: Yeah!**

Lestrade grinned. “You say that like you know!” he raised an eyebrow. “Have you ever had to join him?”

John whirled around, glaring at him. “For the last time! I’m married to a woman! I’m not gay! Just stop it!”

“Come off it, John. Even your wife knows you and Sherlock were in a relationship. Besides, you’re not married yet.”

John huffed.

**He frowns as if still unable to believe what’s happening, then wanders vaguely towards the cupboard that Janine had indicated. She goes along the hallway and knocks on the bathroom door, immediately opening it and going inside.**

**JANINE: Morning! Room for a little one?!**

**Offscreen, Sherlock laughs and she giggles while there is much sound of splashing water. John turns and looks along the hallway.**

**SHERLOCK (offscreen, as the bathroom door closes): Morning.**

**He can be heard chuckling and Janine lets out a high-pitched “Ooh!” John turns away as if wondering what bizarro-world he has fallen into.**

Everyone in the viewing room was equally as baffled. Molly’s face was bright red with rage. Fake relationship or not, Sherlock’s acting was immaculate. Most of them weren’t sure whether to be surprised or uncomfortable at the thought of Sherlock being in the same bath as another human being.

Like clockwork, the screen turned dark. _“Don’t worry, this is all still real. You haven’t fallen into some wacko new world. All will be revealed in time, but you’re in for a wild ride!”_

“More wild than this is already? Impossible!” Anderson claimed, standing up.

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	61. 3x3 Part 2 His Last Vow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will now be aiming to update every Monday, starting with this overly long chapter that I hope you all enjoy.

The next section didn’t start fast enough. Even Mycroft was on the edge of his seat (metaphorically) to know what came next. While he was slightly unnerved to see his younger brother in any sort of relationship, he could see in an instant that it was fake. He wouldn’t give Molly the satisfaction of knowing she was right, though. Better to leave it for a reveal later on – if his brother’s dramatic antics were to be trusted.

Molly, meanwhile, was still plotting ways to – if the relationship _was_ real – keep herself from trying to ruin it. While, admittedly, Sherlock had ruined most of her chances to find love in the past, and she felt immense jealousy rear up within her at the idea of him being with someone else, she wouldn’t destroy it. He’d had such a hard time finding love, anyway. And besides, no point wasting her time and effort because the relationship was obviously fake.

Sally was on the opposite side of that spectrum. She was still a bit unnerved as well by Sherlock’s sudden relationship. Sure, John said he hadn’t seen Sherlock in a month, but the relationship seemed rushed. To her, it was too bizarre _not_ to be real, because Sherlock never did anything he didn’t want to do, right? And what would be the reason to date Janine? He’d met her at Mary and John’s wedding – she couldn’t possibly be related to a case. As far as she knew, there was no case at all aside from the ones solves _at_ the wedding that even dealt with the wedding. Therefore, it had to be real. If only she could figure out a way to stop Molly from ruining it in a fit of jealousy.

Lestrade wasn’t thinking about Sherlock or his relationships whatsoever. Instead, he was watching Mycroft closely. Clearly, Magnussen got under his skin, irked him, and, while unethical, Lestrade found it the perfect opportunity to do the same – to figure out what had been bothering him the whole time. He’d noticed Mycroft’s strange ticks back during the Hounds of Baskerville case, but he’d not seen much of them in the cases since then. It was obviously something to do with Sherlock, perhaps repressed memories, or something of the like. Was it his mind palace? Sherlock’s brain seemed to move faster than he realized, so fast even he had trouble keeping up. Why was that? It was unheard of. Perhaps something in his past was the cause of this, because if it weren’t true, why would Mycroft think he was an idiot as a child – just because he couldn’t keep up with his own deductions? He still struggled with watching Mycroft in a way that was unsuspicious, though, and found the elder Holmes glancing at him every so often.

Lestrade was just silently listing possible occurrences that might’ve happened in their past when the next section came on.

**LATER. John is sitting on the edge of the coffee table while Sherlock – wearing black trousers and a white shirt and putting on his jacket – walks across the living room. John has a bemused smile on his face.**

**SHERLOCK: So – it’s just a guess but you’ve probably got some questions.**

“If that isn’t the understatement of the century, I don’t know what is,” Anderson called out loudly.

“For once, we agree,” John grumbled.

**JOHN: Yyyyeah, one or two, pretty much.**

**SHERLOCK: Naturally.**

**He turns and looks towards the kitchen. John follows his gaze as Janine – also fully dressed – walks into the bedroom. Smiling, Sherlock sits down.**

**JOHN: You have a girlfriend?**

**SHERLOCK (glancing towards him): Yes, I have.**

**John grins. Sherlock looks towards the bedroom again, then turns to John, looking more serious.**

**SHERLOCK: Now, Magnussen. Magnussen is like a shark – it’s the only way I can describe him. Have you ever been to the shark tank at the London Aquarium, John – stood up close to the glass? Those floating flat faces, those dead eyes ...**

Lestrade snorted at the dumb grin on John’s face. “You can’t keep that stupid smile off your face!” he accused, laughing. “Can you be serious? He’s talking about that literal snake and you can’t get over the fact that he’s got a fake girlfriend.”

John blushed. “I can be happy for him if I want to!”

“How could you even think that was real, John? It’s far too bizarre!” Molly cut in.

“I think we find it much harder to believe because we’re watching these cases of my brother’s life in sequential order, without the major gaps between them. For us, it’s only been a short time, but John hasn’t seen Sherlock in over a month, and before that, they had a two-year absence, only for John to be busy with his fiancé and work upon his return.”

**SHERLOCK: That’s what he is. I’ve dealt with murderers, psychopaths, terrorists, serial killers. None of them can turn my stomach like Charles Augustus Magnussen.**

**JOHN: Yes, you have.**

**SHERLOCK: Sorry, what?**

Lestrade snorted again. He just couldn’t get over the fact that John was stuck on that little fact. Sherlock was trying to be serious and dramatic, for God’s sake!

**JOHN: You have a girlfriend.**

**SHERLOCK: What? Yes! Yes, I’m going out with Janine. I thought that was fairly obvious.**

**JOHN: Yes. Well…yes. (He clears his throat loudly.) But I mean you, you, you…are in a relationship?**

**Sherlock blinks at him.**

Sally guffawed. “He looks so disappointed in you, John.”

**SHERLOCK: Yes, I am.**

**JOHN: You and Janine?**

**SHERLOCK: Mmm, yes. Me and Janine.**

**JOHN: Care to elaborate?**

**Sherlock draws in a long breath and looks up thoughtfully, then puffs out his cheeks as he breathes out again.**

**SHERLOCK: Well, we’re in a good place. It’s, um… (he looks down thoughtfully, then turns to John) …very affirming.**

“God, it’s so weird to see him acting like that…” Lestrade breathed. There was nothing wrong with it – with Sherlock acting like a normal person rather than…Sherlock, but it was just so out of place. And, while he suspected that it was fake – he was fairly sure of it, in fact – some small part of him wished it wasn’t. A small part deep within him hoped that Sherlock had actually found someone to care about and who cared about him in a romantic sense.

“Act like wot? A normal human being?” Sally snarked.

Lestrade honestly couldn’t bring himself to correct her.

**He smiles at him. John points back at him.**

**JOHN: You got that from a book.**

**SHERLOCK: Everyone got that from a book.**

**John looks around and smiles as Janine comes into the room.**

**JANINE: Okay, you two bad boys, behave yourselves.**

**Sherlock smiles happily at her as she sits down on the arm of his chair. He puts his arm around her as she turns and leans close to his face.**

**JANINE: And you, Sherl, you’re gonna have to tell me where you were last night.**

“She doesn’t know?” Molly's eyes widened like a startled gopher for a moment before her face split in a Cheshire grin. “She doesn’t know he was undercover! See? It’s fake or he would’ve told her beforehand!”

Sally rolled her eyes.

**SHERLOCK: Working.**

**John stares at them.**

**JANINE: “Working.” Of course. I’m the only one who really knows what you’re like, remember?**

“Yeah, right,” Molly murmured. Her eyes were gleaming.

**SHERLOCK (softly): Don’t you go letting on.**

**He gently runs his finger down the tip of her nose, then lays his hand on her arm. They stare deeply into each other’s eyes. John grins, apparently still unable to believe what he’s seeing.**

“Okay, I’m all for this, but even I have to admit that this is trippy,” Sally whispered to Anderson.

“Right? It’s like he’s still high, but like, normal-person high. Or like when he was drunk on John’s stag night.”

**JANINE (softly): I might just, actually.**

**She tears her eyes away from Sherlock and looks across to John, as does Sherlock.**

**JANINE: I haven’t told Mary about this. I kind of wanted to surprise her.**

**JOHN: Yeah, you probably will.**

“I doubt anyone wouldn’t be surprised by this,” Mrs. Hudson said. She had a strange look on her face - undecided - like she couldn’t bring herself to choose a smile or a frown. She’d been trying to get Sherlock and John together for years, after all, and while it was exhilarating to finally be able to see Sherlock acting affectionately with someone, this wasn’t the someone she’d wanted him to express himself with.

**JANINE: But we should have you two over for dinner really soon!**

**SHERLOCK: Yeah!**

**JANINE: My place, though – not the scuzz-dump!**

**She punches Sherlock affectionately on the shoulder and they both laugh.**

**JOHN: Great, yeah! Dinner! Yeah.**

“You don’t sound too pleased with that, John.”

“Just imagining what a disaster that might turn out to be,” he replied, twisting to look at Lestrade.

**JANINE (standing up): Oh, I’d better dash. It was brilliant to see you!**

**JOHN (also standing): You too.**

**He turns and watches while Sherlock escorts Janine to the living room door and opens it for her.**

**SHERLOCK: Have a lovely day. Call me later.**

**She turns back to him and fiddles with the edge of his jacket.**

**JANINE (teasingly): I might do. I might call you – unless I meet someone prettier!**

**They kiss, while John quickly turns away with his mouth in a startled ‘Ohhh!’ shape.**

Molly physically recoiled, while many of the others in the room reacted similarly to the John that was on the screen – bewildered, wanting to look away, but not knowing where to look.

**As the other two continue to kiss noisily, he stares pointedly towards the window, but then gives an approving nod. Janine pulls back a little and whispers softly to Sherlock, their noses still touching.**

**JANINE: Solve me a crime, Sherlock Holmes.**

**Grinning, she turns and leaves the room. Sherlock smiles as he watches her go…and then his smile abruptly drops, and he closes the door. He walks back across the room.**

“There!” Molly gesticulated wildly, pointing at the screen. “See?”

Lestrade furrowed his eyebrows. “Yeah, I saw.” That confirmed it; Sherlock’s relationship with Janine was a fake. He could tell in the way Sherlock’s face immediately dropped once she was out of eyesight – when his acting was no longer required. But that left the question: why? Why would he seek out a relationship with her? If it was part of a case, which one? Lestrade knew that Sherlock sometimes took on multiple cases at once, but with one as large as the Magnussen case? Surely not. How could Janine connect to it? What did she have to do with Magnussen?

In his reverie, Lestrade almost missed the spark in Mycroft’s eye. He knew something. Maybe. It was entirely possible – almost certain – that Mycroft knew the reason behind his brother’s outrageously fake relationship, though he didn’t seem inclined to share. Lestrade just hoped that the truth revealed itself soon because poor Molly looked like she was going to explode from either fury or conceit any second.

**SHERLOCK: You know Magnussen as a newspaper owner, but he’s so much more than that.**

**John frowns at him.**

**SHERLOCK: He uses his power and wealth to gain information. The more he acquires, the greater his wealth and power.**

**He sits down at the dining table and opens his laptop.**

**SHERLOCK: I’m not exaggerating when I say that he knows the critical pressure point on every person of note or influence in the whole of the Western world and probably beyond. He is the Napoleon of blackmail…**

**He pulls up a photograph of Magnussen’s home, together with a blueprint of the building.**

**SHERLOCK: ... and he has created an unassailable architecture of forbidden knowledge. Its name…**

**He turns the laptop to show the screen to John.**

**SHERLOCK: …is Appledore.**

**JOHN: Dinner.**

**SHERLOCK: Sorry, what, dinner?**

**JOHN: Me and Mary, coming for dinner…with…wine and…sitting.**

Cue the dying flock of owls, or rather, Mrs. Hudson’s laughter. “Oh, John…”

“Yes, John. People usually sit while eating dinner,” Sally remarked.

**Sherlock turns and stares at him for a moment.**

**SHERLOCK: Seriously? I’ve just told you that the Western world is run from this house… (he points at the screen) …and you want to talk about dinner?**

“I’m kind of feeling the same as Sherlock right now, John. You really need to sort out your priorities,” Lestrade said.

“If your best friend disappeared for a month after being the best man at your wedding, then shoed up in a drug den high off his mind and also in a relationship for the first time since you’ve known him, wouldn’t you be the least bit shell-shocked?”

“Probably, but you’re taking it just a bit too far.”

**JOHN: Fine, talk about the house.**

**Sherlock throws him a look, then turns back to his laptop while John looks towards the door as if he still can’t believe what he just witnessed, but eventually he turns back.**

**SHERLOCK: It is the greatest repository of sensitive and dangerous information anywhere in the world… (he looks over his shoulder at John) …the Alexandrian Library of secrets and scandals – and none of it is on a computer. He’s smart – computers can be hacked. It’s all on hard copy in vaults… (he points at the rotating blueprint on the screen) …underneath that house; and as long as it is, the personal freedom of anyone you’ve ever met is a fantasy.**

**There’s a knock on the living room door, followed by Mrs. Hudson’s familiar, “Ooh-ooh!” The door opens and she comes in.**

**MRS. HUDSON (pointing back down the stairs): Oh, that was the doorbell. Couldn’t you hear it?**

**SHERLOCK: It’s in the fridge. It kept ringing.**

Multiple sighs rang throughout the room because finally ( _finally!)_ Sherlock had done something Sherlock-esque. What a strange world it was where putting a doorbell in the refrigerator was normal while being in a fulfilling relationship wasn’t, but…that’s Sherlock for you.

**MRS. HUDSON: Oh, that’s not a fault, Sherlock!**

**JOHN: Who is it?**

**Mrs. Hudson draws in an anxious breath.**

“You can tell by the dramatic music playing in the background that it’s Magnussen,” Anderson declared.

“I hate how you’re right,” Lestrade agreed, though he bit his lip, frowning.

**Shortly afterwards she goes down the stairs to the bottom.**

**MRS. HUDSON: Mr. Holmes said you can go right up.**

**She looks nervously at whoever is waiting in the hall. We can’t immediately see who they are, but she’s clearly frightened by them because she flattens herself against the wall and almost cringes as three men in dark suits walk up the stairs.**

**As a fourth person walks towards the stairs, we are looking through his eyes. He can see not only Mrs. Hudson but information about her, which reads:**

*****

**MARTHA LOUISE HUDSON**

**(née SISSONS)**

*****

**LANDLADY**

**WIDOW (SEE FILE)**

**SEMI-REFORMED ALCOHOLIC**

**FORMER “EXOTIC DANCER” (SEE FILE)**

**FINANCES: 21% DEBT (SEE FILE)**

**STATUS: UNIMPORTANT**

“I don’t know whether to be relieved by the fact that he didn’t list her porn preference or put off by the information we were given…” Anderson whispered.

“Be relieved and leave it at that,” Sally hissed in his ear.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Hudson was a bit red-faced as that horrid man read her life.

*****

**and underneath, flashing in red:**

*****

**PRESSURE POINT: >**

**MARIJUANA**

Lestrade froze, suddenly realizing something. Sherlock had said that none of Magnussen’s files were digital. They were all hardcopy. That didn’t add up. How could his glasses (if it even _was_ his glasses) show everyone’s weaknesses? He paused. Maybe the glasses were a ruse. Something about the show was just trying them to think it was the glasses. He was obviously very smart; maybe the words that appeared were the same as when Sherlock was deducing someone. No one said it had to be exclusive to him. Could that be? Could Magnussen have the same deducing abilities as Sherlock?

If that was true, it told a lot about him by what he chose to focus on. Profiles, rather than simple deductions. He was gathering specific information – blackmail information.

*****

**Upstairs, the three men – clearly security men, all wearing earpieces – walk into the living room. Sherlock, now standing by the fireside with John, sighs and unfolds his arms.**

**SHERLOCK (mock-wearily): Oh, go ahead.**

**He spread his arms and allows one of the goons to frisk him. Another one walks over to John while the third generally looks around the room.**

**SECURITY MAN (to John): Sir?**

**John glances over to Sherlock, then looks back to the man.**

**JOHN: Can I have a moment?**

**Sherlock lowers his arms from his frisking and looks across to the man.**

**SHERLOCK: Oh, he’s fine.**

Lestrade leaned closer to John. “Wait. Do you still have that tire lever from earlier? Sherlock would’ve noticed it for sure, high or not.”

**The man glances at Sherlock then kneels in front of John and starts frisking him.**

**JOHN: Er, I…right. I should probably tell you…**

**The man reaches into John’s jacket pocket and takes out Bill’s flick-knife.**

**JOHN: Okay, I… (he points to the knife) …That.**

**The man pulls John’s jacket open.**

**JOHN: And…**

**The man stands up, holding the tire lever he has just taken from John’s jeans and looking at him sternly. Sherlock looks startled. John steps closer to the man and speaks confidentially.**

**JOHN: Doesn’t mean I’m not pleased to see you.**

Anderson’s comment broke the tense silence. “Was that flirting, John?”

All he got was a groan in return.

**The man does not look amused.**

**SHERLOCK: I can vouch for this man. He’s a doctor. If you know who I am, then you know who he is…**

**He turns his head towards the door as Magnussen walks in and stops just inside the doorway.**

**SHERLOCK: …don’t you, Mr. Magnussen?**

Mycroft immediately tensed.

Lestrade caught the movement out of the corner of his eye.

**John’s security man steps to John’s side and faces his boss while the other one stands at Sherlock’s side and the third waits in the kitchen.**

**SHERLOCK (to Magnussen): I understood we were meeting at your office.**

**Magnussen looks around the room for a moment.**

**MAGNUSSEN: This is my office.**

Molly growled. “He sounds so casual about it.”

**He walks slowly towards the sofa, then stops and turns to look at John. Information appears in front of his eyes:**

*****

**JOHN HAMISH WATSON**

**AFGHANISTAN VETERAN (SEE FILE)**

**G.P. (SEE FILE)**

**PORN PREFERENCE: NORMAL**

**FINANCES: 10% DEBT (SEE FILE)**

**STATUS UNIMPORTANT**

*****

**then, in flashing red underneath:**

*****

**PRESSURE POINT: > **

**HARRY WATSON (SISTER) ALCOHOLIC**

**MARY MORSTAN (WIFE)**

John shivered. This was far worse than being deduced by Sherlock, that was for sure.

*****

**MAGNUSSEN: Well, it is now.**

**He continues on to the dining table, picks up a newspaper from it and then goes back and sits down on the sofa.**

**SHERLOCK: Mr. Magnussen, I have been asked to intercede with you by Lady Elizabeth Smallwood on the matter of her husband’s letters.**

**Magnussen appears to have been ignoring him, paying more attention to what seems to be the uncomfortableness of the sofa. Now he looks at the newspaper in his hand.**

**SHERLOCK: Some time ago you ... put pressure on her concerning those letters.**

**Magnussen looks up at him, leaning back on the sofa.**

**SHERLOCK: She would like those letters back.**

**Magnussen looks at him silently as he continues speaking, and information appears in front of his eyes:**

*****

**SHERLOCK HOLMES**

**CONSULTING DETECTIVE**

**PORN PREFERENCE: NORMAL**

**FINANCES: UNKNOWN**

**BROTHER: MYCROFT HOLMES**

**M.I.6 (SEE FILE)**

**OFFICIALLY DECEASED 2011-2013**

“Porn preference: normal?” Sally shrieked, startled.

There was nothing wrong with that statement, but the thought of Sherlock Holmes watching porn at all made her feel sick. Why couldn’t she stop thinking about it now? She didn’t want to, but there was no way to ignore it now that Magnussen had put the idea in her head.

Her outburst was quickly ignored as the next set of Magnussen’s deductions appeared on the screen.

*****

**and underneath in red:**

*****

**PRESSURE POINT: >**

**IRENE ADLER (SEE FILE)**

**JIM MORIARTY (SEE FILE)**

**REDBEARD (SEE FILE)**

**HOUNDS OF THE BASKERVILLE**

**OPIUM**

**JOHN WATSON**

“He has so many…” Molly whispered, concerned.

“Probably because Magnussen was actively looking for them. Earlier, he listed John as unimportant, which is probably why he only found it necessary to list two pressure points.”

Molly turned to Lestrade. “Well,” she huffed, leaning back with crossed arms, “at least Janine wasn’t on that list.”

*****

**The list of pressure points cycles round several times.**

**SHERLOCK: Obviously, the letters no longer have any practical use to you, so with that in mind…**

**He breaks off, perhaps noticing something about Magnussen’s expression. Magnussen gives a quiet snort.**

**SHERLOCK (letting out an exasperated huff of air): Something I said?**

**MAGNUSSEN: No, no. I-I was reading.**

**He adjusts his glasses, the red list of pressure points cycling more quickly.**

**MAGNUSSEN: There’s rather a lot.**

**Sherlock frowns. In front of Magnussen’s eyes, the white list of information vanishes and the red list cycles rapidly.**

**MAGNUSSEN: “Redbeard.”**

**Sherlock blinks and his mouth opens slightly.**

**MAGNUSSEN: Sorry. (He shakes his head.) S-sorry. You were probably talking?**

“That was so fake. He did that on purpose. Just to throw Sherlock off.” It was so obvious that even Anderson could point it out. “But what does it mean? Who is Redbeard?”

**SHERLOCK: I…**

**He pauses for a long moment, then clears his throat.**

**SHERLOCK: I was trying to explain that I’ve been asked to act on behalf of…**

**Magnussen turns his head to the security man beside John.**

**MAGNUSSEN: Bathroom?**

“He’s such a slug.” Sally recoiled, almost writhing in her own skin. The way he treated Sherlock (or anyone, but especially Sherlock) made her sure that if he’d been that way back when she’d hated the detective, she still would’ve gotten angry on his behalf.

**SECURITY MAN (nodding to his right): Along from the kitchen, sir.**

**MAGNUSSEN: Okay.**

**SHERLOCK (more firmly): I’ve been asked to negotiate the return of those letters.**

**Magnussen takes off his glasses and looks towards the window.**

**SHERLOCK: I’m aware you do not make copies of sensitive documents…**

**MAGNUSSEN (gesturing around the living room): Is it like the rest of the flat?**

**He looks at the security man.**

**SECURITY MAN: Sir?**

**MAGNUSSEN: The bathroom?**

**SECURITY MAN: Er, yes, sir.**

**MAGNUSSEN: Maybe not, then.**

**SHERLOCK: Am I acceptable to you as an intermediary?**

**Magnussen meets his eyes for a moment, then looks towards the window again.**

**MAGNUSSEN: Lady Elizabeth Smallwood. I like her.**

**He turns his eyes towards Sherlock and pops his lips a couple of times.**

**SHERLOCK: Mr. Magnussen, am I acceptable to you as an intermediary?**

**MAGNUSSEN: She’s English, with a spine.**

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Anderson asked. He didn’t like the sound of it or the look in Magnussen’s eyes. He was going to do something uncomfortable. That was a given, but what?

**He lifts his right foot and puts it against the side of the coffee table, then pushes the table away from him. Sherlock frowns slightly. Magnussen stands up and, beside Sherlock, the second security man turns and steps forward to the fireplace, taking the fireguard away from the front of the unlit fire. Sherlock glances over his shoulder.**

**MAGNUSSEN: Best thing about the English…**

**He walks over to Sherlock and John and looks at them one after the other.**

**MAGNUSSEN: …you’re so domesticated. All standing around, apologizing…**

**He nods to Sherlock and then walks in between him and John towards the fireplace.**

**MAGNUSSEN: …keeping your little heads down.**

**He stands in front of the fireplace, facing it. The sound of him unzipping his trousers can be heard.**

“Is he going to…?” Molly couldn’t even finish the sentence as she lurched backward, nearly retching.

**MAGNUSSEN: You can do what you like here. No-one’s ever going to stop you.**

**He looks down and the sound of him urinating into the fireplace can be heard. John blinks as if appalled and half-turns his head towards him. Sherlock keeps his head facing forward, his eyes fixed on the opposite wall.**

At this, everyone blanched. Mycroft was furious, but he knew his brother was doing the right thing not to do anything. He dreaded to think what Magnussen would do if Sherlock actively fought – if he actively posed a threat.

**MAGNUSSEN (continuing to urinate): A nation of herbivores.**

**He half-glances over his shoulder.**

**MAGNUSSEN: I’ve interests all over the world but, uh, everything starts in England.**

**He looks down again as the last of his urine splashes on the grate in front of the fire.**

**MAGNUSSEN: If it works here…**

**He jiggles up and down as he ‘shakes off’ and then zips up his trousers.**

**MAGNUSSEN: …I’ll try it in a real country.**

**Looking at himself in the mirror for a moment, he turns and strolls back in between the boys. The security guard beside John holds out a packet of wet wipes and Magnussen takes one and turns to face the others.**

**MAGNUSSEN: The United Kingdom, huh? (He starts to wipe his fingers.) Petri dish to the Western world.**

**He looks at Sherlock briefly.**

**MAGNUSSEN: Tell Lady Elizabeth I might need those letters, so I’m keeping them.**

**Finishing wiping his fingers, he drops the wet wipe to the floor.**

“Gross,” Anderson said as he cringed.

Mrs. Hudson was practically shaking from rage. “I think that word perfectly sums up that man.”

**MAGNUSSEN: Goodbye.**

**He turns as if to leave, then turns back and put his hand into his jacket’s inside breast pocket.**

**MAGNUSSEN: Anyway…**

**He chuckles and pulls out the edge of a packet of documents to show Sherlock.**

**MAGNUSSEN: …they’re funny.**

**Smirking, he tucks the packet back into his jacket and leaves the room. The security men follow him. As the sound of their feet can be heard clattering down the stairs, John takes a step forward.**

**JOHN (furiously): Jesus!**

**SHERLOCK: Did you notice the one extraordinary thing he did?**

**JOHN: Wh... There was a moment that kind of stuck in the mind, yeah.**

**He gestures towards the fireplace, but Sherlock is smiling, having not noticed him.**

“Why would urinating in your fireplace ever be considered _extraordinary_ , John?” Lestrade asked incredulously.

John spluttered.

**SHERLOCK: Exactly – when he showed us the letters.**

**He walks across the room, still smiling, while John closes his eyes in disbelief.**

**JOHN: …Okay.**

**SHERLOCK: So he’s brought the letters to London – so no matter what he says, he’s ready to make a deal. Now, Magnussen only makes a deal once he’s established a person’s weaknesses – the ‘pressure point,’ he calls it.**

**He picks up his coat from a dining chair and puts it on.**

**SHERLOCK: So, clearly, he believes I’m a drug addict and no serious threat.**

**He looks out of the window to where one of the security guards is closing the rear door of a car parked outside.**

**SHERLOCK (turning back and gesturing enthusiastically): And, of course, because he’s in town tonight, the letters will be in his safe in his London office while he’s out to dinner with the Marketing Group of Great Britain from seven ’til ten.**

**JOHN: How-how do you know his schedule?**

**SHERLOCK: Because I do.**

“ _Because I do?_ Is that his answer to everything that he knows that he shouldn’t actually know?” Sally wondered aloud.

Lestrade’s eyes widened. Of course! His head spun around to glance at Mycroft with just barely enough time to remember to make his action subtle.

**SHERLOCK: Right – I’ll see you tonight. I’ve got some shopping to do.**

“Shopping?” Molly whispered.

**He heads out the door and down the stairs.**

**JOHN (calling after him): What’s tonight?**

**SHERLOCK (calling up the stairs): I’ll text instructions.**

**JOHN (loudly): Yeah, I’ll text you if I’m available.**

**SHERLOCK: You are! I checked!**

**Looking exasperated, John heads for the door.**

*****

**Downstairs, Sherlock goes out of the front door followed by John.**

**SHERLOCK: Don’t bring a gun.**

**JOHN: Why would I bring a gun?**

**SHERLOCK: Or a knife, or a tire lever. Probably best not to do any arm-spraining, but we’ll see how the night goes.**

**He raises his arm to an approaching taxi.**

**JOHN: You’re just assuming I’m coming along?**

“Have you ever given a reason to think you wouldn’t, dear?” Mrs. Hudson asked.

He sighed. “Fair point.”

**SHERLOCK: Time you got out of the house, John. (He runs his eyes over him as the taxi pulls up.) You’ve put on seven pounds since you got married, and the cycling isn’t doing it.**

**He opens the cab door and gets in.**

**JOHN: It’s actually four pounds.**

**SHERLOCK (shutting the door and looking at him through the half-open window): Mary and I think seven. See you later.**

“He’s conspiring with my own wife about my weight?”

**He sits down on the seat and gives his destination to the driver.**

**SHERLOCK: Hatton Garden.**

**The cab drives away. John looks at his watch, then walks off.**

*****

**EVENING/NIGHT TIME. John walks towards the entrance of a skyscraper building that houses CAM Global News. In the foyer, a TV screen is broadcasting the company’s news channel, which is currently showing a Breaking News item reading, “MP JOHN GARVIE ARRESTED ON CHARGES OF CORRUPTION.” A photograph shows the man who spoke at the parliamentary hearing at the beginning of the episode. A newsreader’s voice can be heard.**

**NEWSREADER (on the TV): And breaking news now. John Garvie MP has been arrested today on charges of corruption. This follows an investigation due to information acquired…**

**John walks through the revolving doors and approaches the security barriers which need an electronic key card to open them. He looks around and then looks at his watch, and Sherlock walks over and stops behind him.**

**SHERLOCK: Magnussen’s office is on the top floor, just below his private flat… (he looks towards lift doors on the next level up) …but there are fourteen levels of security between us and him…**

**His mind’s eye floats quickly along the next level towards the lift and homes in on the security card reader beside the lift doors.**

**SHERLOCK: …two of which aren’t even legal in this country. Want to know how we’re going to break in?**

“I feel like as a police officer I should not be condoning this behaviour, but honestly, I’m rooting for you,” Lestrade said.

John shrugged. “I’m just along for the ride.” Aside, he huffed, “Again.”

**JOHN: Is that what we’re doing?**

**SHERLOCK: Of course it’s what we’re doing.**

**He turns and walks away.**

**Later, the boys are each carrying a takeaway cup of coffee and are walking towards an escalator in the building.**

**SHERLOCK: Magnussen’s private lift. It goes straight to his penthouse and office. Only he uses it… (they get onto the escalator) …and only his key card calls the lift. Anyone else even tries, security is automatically informed.**

**They get to the top and walk towards the lift. Sherlock holds up a key card.**

**SHERLOCK (stopping): Standard key card for the building. Nicked it yesterday. Only gets us as far as the canteen.**

**He walks to the lift, stops and looks at it.**

**SHERLOCK: Here we go, then.**

Anderson shrieked. “Is he actually going to use a standard key card on a private lift?” he fretted. What could he be thinking?

**The camera shifts back along the corridor and Sherlock and John are still standing where they just were, several yards away from the lift.**

**SHERLOCK: If I was to use this card on that lift now, what happens?**

**He gestures towards the lift where an imaginary version of himself is touching his card to the security reader. Alarms immediately begin to sound – at least in Sherlock’s head – and two imaginary security men run towards imaginary-Sherlock standing at the lift.**

Anderson sighed in relief. It was just a simulation.

**JOHN (obviously not seeing or hearing anything): Er, the alarms would go off and you’d be dragged away by security.**

**Over at the lift, imaginary-Sherlock is indeed being seized by the arms by the two men.**

**REAL-SHERLOCK: Exactly.**

**He looks towards the lift and watches as imaginary-Sherlock is marched away.**

**JOHN: Get taken to a small room somewhere and your head kicked in.**

**Imaginary-Sherlock looks over his shoulder and throws an indignant look towards his real self and his friend. Real-Sherlock looks over at John.**

Sally snorted. “I can’t believe it. You even managed to offend the imaginary Sherlock. Good job, John.”

**SHERLOCK: Do we really need so much colour?**

**JOHN: It passes the time.**

**Sherlock gives him a look and passes him his coffee cup. John takes it and returns the look. Ignoring it, Sherlock takes his phone from his coat.**

**SHERLOCK: But if I do this…**

**He presses the security card against his phone.**

**SHERLOCK: If you press a key card against your mobile phone for long enough, it corrupts the magnetic strip. The card stops working. It’s a common problem – never put your key card with your phone.**

**He looks along the corridor to where imaginary-Sherlock is back at the lift and swiping his card across the reader. The two imaginary security men start to run towards him again…but then they go into slow motion and then stop, frozen in mid-run.**

**SHERLOCK: What happens if I use the card now?**

**JOHN: It still doesn’t work.**

**SHERLOCK: But it doesn’t read as the wrong card now.**

**More imaginary security men run towards imaginary-Sherlock, then they too slow down and freeze in mid-run.**

**SHERLOCK: It registers as corrupted. But if it’s corrupted, how do they know it’s not Magnussen?**

**JOHN (looking around, possibly to check if real security is anywhere nearby): Huh.**

Anderson furrowed his eyebrows. “John, can you actually see this happened? Because it really seems like you can.”

John shrugged. “Spend enough time with Sherlock and you tend to see where he’s going with things.”

**SHERLOCK: Would they risk dragging him off?**

**JOHN: Probably not.**

**SHERLOCK: So what do they do? What do they have to do?**

**JOHN: Check if it’s him or not.**

“How’s that supposed to work? He’s clearly not Magnussen,” Anderson pointed out.

“And thank God for that,” Sally said.

**Near the lift, the imaginary security men shrink down and each one disappears into a different imaginary wastepaper bin, all of which have suddenly appeared out of nowhere. The bins then disappear again.**

**SHERLOCK: There’s a camera at eye height to the right of the door.**

**Imaginary-Sherlock walks up to the lift doors again, where the security card reader has a flashing red light above it. He swipes the card past the reader and on a laptop elsewhere in the building there’s a repeated beeping sound and a message comes up on the screen reading:**

*****

**ALERT LOCKED**

**CORRUPTED CARD**

**CONNECT CAMERA**

*****

**SHERLOCK: A live picture of the card user is relayed directly to Magnussen’s personal staff in his office – the only people trusted to make a positive ID.**

**A cutaway shot shows the laptop on a table in an office. A woman – unseen to us except for her hand – walks over to press a key on the keyboard.**

**SHERLOCK: …at this hour, almost certainly his PA.**

Lestrade’s heart stopped. His hunch was becoming more and more plausible. Everything was falling into place. First, he glanced at Mycroft, then to Molly, then back at Mycroft. Did they know, too? Surely, Mycroft knew. What about Molly? Had she figured it out as well?

**In the imaginary office, the security camera activates and transmits live footage of imaginary-Sherlock smiling into the camera.**

**JOHN: S-so how’s that help us?**

**Sherlock smiles along the corridor, then looks round to John.**

**SHERLOCK: Human error. (He raises his hand to the breast pocket of his coat and pats it.) I’ve been shopping.**

Molly gasped and Lestrade knew that she’d figured it out. She spun around to meet his eyes and he nodded silently, ignoring the confused looks he got from Sally, Anderson, and John. Mycroft rolled his eyes.

**He walks along the corridor to the lift, John again looking all around before following him. Sherlock reaches the lift doors and raises his card towards the reader.**

**SHERLOCK: Here we go, then.**

**He presses the card against the reader. A circle on the reader screen, and the words CAM GLOBAL NEWS at the bottom of the screen, both turn from blue to red and there’s a beep.**

**JOHN (quietly, standing to the side out of view of the camera): You realize you don’t exactly look like Magnussen.**

Everyone shuddered at the thought of Sherlock looking anything like that scumbag.

**SHERLOCK (looking confidently into the security camera while speaking quietly and barely moving his lips): Which, in this case, is a considerable advantage.**

**Up in the office at the top of the building, the laptop beeps its alert and shows its message on the screen. The woman walks across the room to press a key on the keyboard and Sherlock’s live image smiles into the camera at her. She walks around the desk to get a better look and now we see that it’s Janine. She stares at the image in amazement.**

“It’s _her_?” Sally reared, shoulders jumping to her ears.

Molly rolled her eyes. “Of course she’s the PA. Why else would Sherlock waste his time with her?” She sniffed pointedly.

**JANINE (quietly, over the intercom to the security reader beside the lift): Sherlock, you complete loon! What are you doing?!**

**Sherlock smiles more widely into the camera. John looks over in surprise.**

**JOHN: Hang on – was that…? That…!**

**He instinctively starts to step closer, but Sherlock holds up the flat of his hand to him to stop him and talks into the camera.**

**SHERLOCK: Hi, Janine. (Secretively, glancing around) Go on, let me in.**

**JANINE: I can’t! You know I can’t. Don’t be silly.**

**SHERLOCK (softly): Don’t make me do it out here. Not… (he pauses and turns his head to glance at a woman walking past, then once she’s gone, he turns back to the camera) …in front of everyone.**

“Is he about to do what I think he’s about to do?” Sally asked, hesitant.

“Depends on what you think he’s about to do,” Anderson replied, leaning closer to her.

Lestrade was the one who interrupted them. “He’s going to fake propose to her for a case? Jesus, Sherlock!”

**JANINE: Do what in front of everyone?**

**Beside him, John smiles and nods politely at another woman as she walks past. Sherlock lowers his eyes and blows out a big breath, then takes out a small dark red box and clicks it open before holding it up to the camera to show the large diamond engagement ring inside it. Janine gasps and straightens up, clapping her hand to her mouth.**

“They’ve only been together for a month at most! That’s even quicker than John and Mary! What is wrong with you two?” Sally exclaimed.

“Well, at least we know this is fake, now,” John reassured her. He was shaking his head in disbelief, though he couldn’t really be surprised. It was Sherlock, after all.

**Downstairs, John stares at the ring. Janine does likewise upstairs while Sherlock holds the box in front of his face and turns on his biggest puppy dog eyes over the top of it as he looks into the camera and then smiles. Lowering her hand, Janine lets out a silent delighted laugh – and downstairs the card reader screen turns from red to blue and the lift doors open. Sherlock grins into the camera, then clicks the box closed and turns to John, whose mouth is open as he stares at his friend.**

**SHERLOCK: You see? As long as there’s people, there’s always a weak spot.**

“Sherlock!” Mrs. Hudson scolded.

**He starts to walk into the lift, but John stops him.**

**JOHN: That was Janine.**

**SHERLOCK: Yes, of course it was Janine. She’s Magnussen’s PA. That’s the whole point.**

“I thought he was getting better!” Sally complained. “I thought he’d started to actually care about other people’s feelings. This is so wrong!”

“It worked, though,” Anderson supplied.

“I don’t care if it worked! You don’t get engaged just to break into an office!”

**JOHN: Did you just get engaged to break into an office?**

**SHERLOCK: Yeah. (He steps into the lift.) Stroke of luck, meeting her at your wedding. You can take some of the credit.**

**JOHN: Je-Jesus!**

**He looks down at the coffee cups he’s still holding, then drops them into a waste bin just outside the lift before getting in.**

**JOHN (leaning close to Sherlock and speaking quietly): Sherlock, she loves you.**

**SHERLOCK (flatly, staring ahead of himself): Yes. Like I said – human error.**

Molly’s heart clenched at that. How could he possibly still think that? They’d seen him be caring before. Not…over-the-top affectionate like he’d been acting with Janine for the ruse, but…he still cared about people.

**The doors close and the lift begins its ascent. John turns to look at him.**

**JOHN: What are you gonna do?**

**SHERLOCK: Well, not actually marry her, obviously. (He looks round to him.) There’s only so far you can go.**

**JOHN: So what will you tell her?**

**Sherlock briefly looks at him again before facing the front.**

**SHERLOCK: Well, I’ll tell her that our entire relationship was a ruse to break into her boss’ office. I imagine she’ll want to stop seeing me at that point… (he looks at John again) …but you’re the expert on women.**

**The lift stops at floor 32 and the doors open. Sherlock turns on his human smile and walks out, bobbing up and down in an ‘I’ve just come to get engaged to you’ way as he looks around for his new fiancée. After a moment he stops, looking around more carefully and frowning when there’s no sign of her. The boys walk into her office, but she still can’t be seen.**

“Something’s wrong,” Lestrade said quietly.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Obviously. Did you really think it would be that easy?” Clearly, he thought Magnussen wouldn’t just leave evidence lying around.

**JOHN: So where did she go?**

**SHERLOCK: It’s a bit rude. I just proposed to her.**

“How is _she_ the rude one?” Sally exclaimed.

Lestrade balked, exasperated. “God, Sherlock,” he said, shaking his head.

**John walks across the room towards the window and sees Janine lying on the floor.**

**JOHN: Sherlock…**

**Sherlock walks over as John bends down to her.**

**SHERLOCK: Did she faint? Do they really do that?**

**John takes his hand from her head and finds blood on his fingers.**

**JOHN: It’s a blow to the head. (He bends lower to her.) She’s breathing. Janine?**

**She moans quietly. Sherlock looks round the rest of the office and sees something in an adjoining room.**

**SHERLOCK (walking across the office): Another in here.**

**John looks over to him but doesn’t leave his patient. In the next room, Sherlock looks at the unconscious suited man lying face down on the floor, then does a full circle turn to look around the rest of the room.**

**SHERLOCK: Security.**

**JOHN: Does he need help?**

**Sherlock walks to the man’s side and looks down at him. Behind his left ear, which has an earpiece in it, is a small tattoo of the number “14”.**

**SHERLOCK: Ex-con.**

**He zooms in on another tattoo on the man’s right hand between his thumb and index finger. The tattoo is five small dots, four of them in a square shape and the fifth in the middle of the square.**

**SHERLOCK: White supremacist, by the tattoo, so who cares? (He points back towards John.) Stick with Janine.**

“ _Who cares_? I mean, I don’t disagree, but you could at least check that he’s not dead.” Sally grumbled.

**John hesitates, apparently unhappy about leaving any unconscious person unchecked, but then turns back to Janine.**

**JOHN: Janine, focus on my voice now. Can you hear me?**

**Sherlock looks around the room again and then goes to the nearby glass desk. He bends down, holding his hand over the top of it while looking at it closely, then works his way around to the other side, looking carefully at everything. He squats down to the leather chair behind the desk and puts his hand on the seat, immediately working out the temperature of the leather:**

*****

**TEMPERATURE: 35°C**

*****

**In the other room, John looks up as if he has just had a thought and then gets up and walks to where he can see Sherlock next door.**

**JOHN (in a stage whisper, while pointing back to Janine): Hey. They must still be here.**

**SHERLOCK (straightening up and also speaking in a loud whisper): So’s Magnussen. His seat’s still warm. He should be at dinner but he’s still in the building.**

**He looks around and then raises his eyes upwards.**

**SHERLOCK (in a loud whisper): Upstairs!**

**JOHN (taking his phone from his pocket): We should call the police.**

“John!” Lestrade scolded, “You’re literally _robbing_ the building and you want to call the police?”

John sighed.

**SHERLOCK (loud whisper): During our own burglary?! You’re really not a natural at this, are you?**

**John sighs and switches his phone off again.**

**SHERLOCK (loud whisper): No, wait, shh!**

**Standing at the side of the chair, he closes his eyes, sniffs deeply and holds his hands out to the sides. As John goes back to Janine, Sherlock sniffs twice more, the final one a deep long sniff, and a couple of words appear around him:**

*****

**VERSACE**

**No 5**

*****

**SHERLOCK: Perfume – not Janine’s.**

**The words disappear. Keeping his eyes closed, Sherlock waves his hand around beside his head as if to force other suggestions from his mind. Two more brand names appear.**

*****

**PRADA**

**Dior**

*****

**He waves those away, then opens his eyes and points upwards triumphantly at the correct name as it appears.**

*****

**Claire-de-la-lune**

*****

**Sherlock quietly says the name out loud, then turns around, grimacing.**

**SHERLOCK: Why do I know it?**

**John looks up from where he is still checking Janine.**

**JOHN: Mary wears it.**

Mycroft shifts awkwardly in his seat, eyes narrowing just slightly.

**SHERLOCK (turning back and still speaking in a loud whisper): No, not Mary. Somebody else.**

“Lady Elizabeth Smallwood wears that perfume, doesn’t she?” Anderson turned to Sally. His eyes suddenly went wide. “You don’t think she broke in to attack him, do you?”

Molly waves her hand at the two. “That’s ridiculous. Why would she go to Sherlock about the case and _then_ go behind his back to attack Magnussen? Besides, how would she break into the office _and_ take out his private security? She doesn’t exactly look the type to be able to do that.”

“Looks can be deceiving.”

“Yes, but then Magnusson would’ve picked up on it. If he knew about Redbeard even though Mycroft only mentioned it in passing over a phone call to Sherlock, how wouldn’t he know about that?”

Lestrade allowed his eyes to drift to Mycroft yet again, homing in on the twitch of his left hand. Just who – or _what_ – was Redbeard?

**He lifts his head as he hears a noise from upstairs and his gaze becomes intense. John seems to recognize that look and whispers loudly.**

**JOHN: Sherlock!**

**But Sherlock’s already off, running across the room to the stairwell and hurrying upwards, pausing for a moment to look up the stairs before quickly continuing.**

Anderson rubbed his hands together. Here came the dramatic music again, promising action and intrigue and everything he couldn’t wait to see.

**Up in what must be Magnussen’s private penthouse flat, Sherlock walks softly along the carpeted hall towards where he can hear Magnussen talking quietly and sounding very anxious and almost tearful.**

**MAGNUSSEN (offscreen): …coming here? What-what-what would your husband think, eh?**

**Sherlock walks carefully towards a partially open door at the end of the hall.**

**MAGNUSSEN (offscreen): He…your lovely husband, upright, honourable…**

**Sherlock looks through the gap in the door and sees Magnussen on his knees with his hands behind his head and cowering.**

**MAGNUSSEN: …so English. What-what would he say to you now?**

**Standing in front of him, someone dressed all in black and wearing black gloves pulls back the pistol and silencer they are pointing at Magnussen and cocks the gun before pointing the barrel at him again. He cowers, whimpering and momentarily lapsing into Danish.**

**MAGNUSSEN: Nej, nej! [No, no!]**

No one could find any sympathy for the man cowering on the floor. It was pitiful, sure, but their hearts were cold as ice for him. He was a horrid man, after all, using others for his own personal gain without any concern for them, so why should they care about him?

**Sherlock slowly pushes the door open.**

**MAGNUSSEN (tearfully, tremulously): You’re-you’re doing this to protect him from the truth ... but is this protection he would want?**

“That doesn’t make sense,” Lestrade said.

“What doesn’t?” John asked.

“Why would Lady Smallwood be trying to _protect her husband from the truth_ if it was only the letters? He already knows the truth, so she’d be trying to protect him from the truth getting _out_.”

“That’s not Lady Smallwood,” Molly said. “It can’t be. If she could do something like this, she would’ve done it when she was alone in her office with him before. She wouldn’t have let him blackmail her like that.”

The other fell silent, pondering just _who_ Magnussen’s mysterious attacker could be.

**SHERLOCK (slowly walking to stand a few feet behind the person holding the gun, who we now see is also wearing a black knitted cap on their head, covering their hair): Additionally, if you’re going to commit murder, you might consider changing your perfume…**

**The potential killer raises the gun a little, turning it slightly to the left.**

**SHERLOCK: …Lady Smallwood.**

**Magnussen straightens a little, breathing out a long shaky breath.**

**MAGNUSSEN (in a slightly stronger voice): Sorry. Who?**

“It’s not her? How did Sherlock get it wrong?” Anderson wondered.

“Not even Sherlock is perfect, you idiot. Not that you’d know; you’re a Sherlock fanboy at this point.” Sally shoved him over.

“He missed that deduction, I guess.”

“What deduction, Lestrade?” John turned to the DI.

“Back when he first met her. He deduced her as a liar, but nothing ever came of it. Something must’ve – should’ve – come of it. This must be it.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Your future wife. Mary.” Lestrade rubbed his chin, taking in John’s baffled expression. “Something’s been off about her from the start.”

“What are you saying? That my wife is a murderer?”

“Well you certainly have a type, John,” Sally cut in. She was silenced with a glare from her boss as John sputtered once again.

Anderson gapped. “You really think it’s Mary?”

Lestrade nodded stiffly. “Yeah. You think you’re the only one who can come up with theories?” That sentence left no room for argument, so they all just turned back to the screen.

**Sherlock focuses on the back of the assassin. Magnussen’s gaze goes from him to the face of his potential killer as the person adjusts their grip on the pistol.**

**MAGNUSSEN: That’s…not…Lady Smallwood, Mr. Holmes.**

**Sherlock frowns. The person in black turns to face him, aiming the pistol at him, and Sherlock looks into the face of Mary Elizabeth Watson.**

John froze, hands dropping to his sides. “What?” he choked.

**He draws in a breath and rapidly flashes back to several different times when they have been together and in each of those moments his many deductions about her – many of which were seen during “The Empty Hearse” – swarm around her. Then he’s back in Magnussen’s flat and the deductions fade, leaving many instances of only one word repeatedly drifting around her as she aims her gun towards him:**

*****

**Liar**

*****

**They too fade and he focuses on her face as she stares back at him. A single large word appears beside her face:**

*****

**Liar**

*****

“He’d seen it the whole time; his brain deduced it, but he missed it,” Molly said.

John’s breathing grew loud and forced, chest heaving. “How…?”

Lestrade laid a hand on his friend’s back.

**MARY (as the word rotates and then fades): Is John with you?**

**SHERLOCK (shakily): He’s, um…**

**MARY (firmly): Is John here?**

**SHERLOCK: He-he’s downstairs.**

**She nods.**

**MAGNUSSEN (softly): So, what do you do now? Kill us both?**

“What I’m wondering is why she would turn the gun on Sherlock in the first place. Just kill Magnussen and be done with it!” Sally hissed.

Lestrade gave her a disapproving frown. “Donovan, you’re a police officer,” he scolded.

She sneered at him. “Don’t say you weren’t thinking the same thing!”

**Keeping her pistol aimed in front of her, Mary smiles humourlessly over her shoulder towards him before turning her gaze back to Sherlock. As Sherlock speaks, Magnussen slowly lowers his hands and begins to reach down towards the floor on his left.**

**SHERLOCK: Mary, whatever he’s got on you, let me help.**

**He shifts his weight onto one foot, preparing to step towards her.**

**MARY (in a somewhat exasperated voice): Oh, Sherlock, if you take one more step, I swear I will kill you.**

“It’s so casual…” Sally breathed.

“That’s not Mary,” Anderson insisted.

Everyone turned to him. He had another wild look in his eyes.

“It can’t be. It’s another body double. Or something. An illegal clone. An identical twin. It’s not her.”

Sally slapped him upside the head. “Enough with your ludicrous theories! It’s her. There’s no way to deny it.”

Anderson pouted, unconvinced.

**SHERLOCK (shaking his head with a small smile on his face): No, Mrs. Watson.**

**She stares at him, her mouth opening a little.**

**SHERLOCK (gently): You won’t.**

**He starts to lift his foot off the floor. Immediately she pulls the trigger. The bullet impacts his lower chest, just above the V of his buttoned jacket and slightly to the right of his shirt buttons.**

Silence filled the room, only to be broken by a crash and gush of tea streaming into the carpet. They all turned to Mycroft, who was gripping his armrests so tightly they might burst open at the seams. His face was white as the milk he’d poured into his tea.

Lestrade wanted to move, to sit next to him and ask if he was alright, but Mycroft wouldn’t approve of that. Of course he wasn’t alright. His brother had just been shot. (He’d been shot before, but never had it been so fatal.) His concern was showing.

**Magnussen straightens up again. Sherlock’s eyes unfocus and a slight look of shock appears on his face as Mary sighs regretfully. He looks down at the bullet hole and after a moment blood begins to pour from the hole.**

**MARY (her voice a little tearful): I’m sorry, Sherlock. Truly am.**

**Sherlock raises his head and looks at her.**

**SHERLOCK: Mary?**

**She turns and points her pistol down at Magnussen. His eyes widen…**

**…and the scene freeze frames and a loud alarm siren begins to blare repeatedly.**

“What happened?” Anderson sat up suddenly. “Did they get caught?”

**The room darkens around Sherlock and a spotlight shines onto his face as he stares ahead of himself in shock.**

**As the alarm continues, he is suddenly running quickly down the flights of a staircase in a white-walled building.**

“This isn’t Magnussen’s office…” John murmured. He couldn’t find the strength to care, though. His future wife had just shot his best friend. What was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to think?

**Everything about the view suggests that this place is decaying and unlived in – the paint is peeling from the walls, the concrete of the uncarpeted stairs is crumbling and the red paint on the bannisters is cracking off. The camera is above the stairs and there are several storeys below where he currently is. He clings to the bannisters and braces his other hand on the wall as he continues rapidly downwards.**

**Back in Magnussen’s room, Molly – wearing her white lab coat – walks around behind Sherlock.**

**MOLLY (smiling): It’s not like it is in the movies. There’s not a great big spurt of blood and you go flying backwards.**

If the situation wasn’t so dire, Molly would’ve blushed. She was the one in Sherlock’s head, guiding him through this? He was going into shock and _she_ was the one he thought of to help save him?

**She walks around in front of him and the scenery around her turns bright white.**

**MOLLY (continuing walking, her face more serious now): The impact isn’t spread over a wide area.**

**She’s now in a white-walled mortuary room and she walks over to a body lying on a table in the middle of the room. The body is covered with a white sheet and has an identity tag tied to one bare toe.**

Choked sobs escaped Mrs. Hudson at the sight of the body on the table. Molly – whose _job_ it was to work with dead bodies – found herself sickened by this one, by the _idea_ of this body belonging to Sherlock. Tears just silently streamed down John’s face. No erratic sobs or gasps, just tears.

**MOLLY: It’s tightly focussed, so there’s little or no energy transfer.**

**She reaches down and starts to pull back the sheet covering the body. Sherlock is lying under the sheet, naked and with his eyes closed.**

**MOLLY: You stay still…**

**She pulls the sheet back to his waist, revealing the bullet hole in his lower chest.**

**MOLLY: …and the bullet pushes through.**

**There’s a brief close-up of the bullet hole. She looks down at Sherlock’s face and he can see her fuzzily even though his eyes are closed.**

**MOLLY: You’re almost certainly going to die, so we need to focus.**

**She slaps him hard across the face. He hauls in a huge breath, his eyes snapping open as his head jerks to the side under her blow.**

A few people in the room suppressed winces.

**In Magnussen’s room, both Magnussen and Mary are still frozen. Sherlock’s eyelids lift a little.**

**MOLLY (offscreen): I said…**

**She is standing in front of him.**

**MOLLY: …focus.**

**She slaps him hard. His head snaps round under her blow and before he can turn back, he’s standing in a bright white room, still reeling from Molly’s slap. He straightens up and looks around, bewildered, then looks at Molly as she speaks again. They are in the mortuary room and in front of him is the table with his own dead body lying on it, covered by a sheet as far as the waist. Rows of mortuary cabinets line one wall. She walks towards the table, leans her hands onto the edge of it and looks across it to the living version of Sherlock standing on the other side.**

**MOLLY: It’s all well and clever having a Mind Palace, but you’ve only three seconds of consciousness left to use it. So, come on – what’s going to kill you?**

“ _Only three seconds to use it_? How will he manage that?”

Anderson grabbed Sally’s arm. “He’s not going to actually _die,_ is he?” he fretted.

“Oi! Get off me!”

**Sherlock looks down at his dead body for a moment and then raises his head again.**

**SHERLOCK: Blood loss.**

**MOLLY (quietly, intensely): Exactly.**

**Sherlock looks at her, frowning a little.**

**MOLLY: So, it’s all about one thing now.**

**Sherlock, with his hands braced on the table in front of him, starts to sway. The loud alarm finally fades out and goes silent.**

**MOLLY: Forwards, or backwards?**

**He lowers his head and his eyes close…**

**…and he’s back in Magnussen’s room staring ahead of himself.**

**MOLLY (offscreen): We need to decide which way you’re going to fall.**

**Behind him, while Mary and Magnussen remain frozen in place, Anderson walks over and stops behind his back. He is wearing white medical gloves. Molly walks towards Sherlock from halfway across the room.**

**ANDERSON: One hole, or two?**

“Wait! I’m there, too?”

“Seems so,” Mycroft said quietly. Those were the first words he’d spoken since Sherlock was shot, and with a quick glance over at him, Lestrade could tell that he wasn’t going o be saying anything more for a while.

**SHERLOCK (frowning and turning to look over his shoulder at him): Sorry?**

**Anderson raises his eyebrows in a questioning way.**

**MOLLY: Is the bullet still inside you…**

**He turns to face her as she stands in front of him.**

**MOLLY: …or is there an exit wound?**

**The perspective changes and she is no longer in front of him, though Anderson is still behind him.**

**MOLLY (voiceover): It’ll depend on the gun.**

Lestrade frowned. Why would he try to identify the type of gun? That was far too much work. There were better ways to figure it out, surely – even _he_ could think of a few.

**Sherlock turns his head to the left and now he can see diagrams of many different pistols in front of his eyes. He zooms in on one – which changes from a blue outline to a yellow one – and a tag appears above it reads, “Cat-0208”.**

**SHERLOCK: That one, I think.**

**He looks across the diagrams and another pistol identified as “Cat-077839” turns yellow. He moves on to another gun which changes to yellow. We can’t see the first part of the identification tag but its number ends “173634”.**

**SHERLOCK: Or that one.**

**He frowns as if uncertain and continues through the display, another gun flashing yellow and showing its identification and then rapidly disappearing off-screen before he moves on.**

**MYCROFT (offscreen): Oh, for God’s sake, Sherlock.**

**Sherlock turns his head to the right and sees his brother sitting at his desk in his office at The Diogenes Club.**

**MYCROFT: It doesn’t matter about the gun. Don’t be stupid.**

Mycroft flinched. It was barely noticeable to someone who wasn’t looking for it.

**Sherlock turns and walks towards him. Mycroft leans forward and folds his hands on the table in front of him.**

**MYCROFT: You always were so stupid.**

**Sherlock continues towards the desk, but now he’s a young boy – about eleven years old – and wearing dark trousers and a shirt with a buttoned dark green cardigan over it. He walks slowly towards his big brother.**

Lestrade couldn’t help the gasp that came from his mouth. He stared, wide-eyed and open-mouthed at the small boy on the screen. He…? Sherlock was young. Why was he young? Was that how he saw himself in comparison to Mycroft? Or did he think of himself as such in general? (Probably not.) Without his permission, his mind began filing through all of the cases he’d been on with Sherlock, replacing the detective he knew with this little boy. It fit, oddly juxtaposed in his head.

“He’s a cute kid,” he whispered to Mycroft. Though he wasn’t sure where the words came from, he hoped they helped snap the other man somewhat out of his current state.

**MYCROFT: Such a disappointment.**

**YOUNG SHERLOCK (angrily): I’m not stupid.**

“Why would you ever call that sweet little boy stupid, Mycroft?” Mrs. Hudson scolded. She was blowing her nose into the tissues that had been provided.

**MYCROFT (sternly): You’re a very stupid little boy.**

**He stands up and walks around the table.**

**MYCROFT: Mummy and Daddy are very cross…**

**He reaches the other side of the table and leans against it.**

**MYCROFT: …because it doesn’t matter about the gun.**

**YOUNG SHERLOCK (frowning up at him): Why not?**

**MYCROFT: You saw the whole room when you entered it. What was directly behind you when you were murdered?**

**YOUNG SHERLOCK (sounding petulant): I’ve not been murdered yet.**

**MYCROFT (leaning down to him): Balance of probability, little brother.**

Mycroft really didn’t know what to think of his self-figment in Sherlock’s head. He was cold and cruel – not unwarranted, but he’d hoped that maybe Sherlock could tell he cared, even just a little bit.

**Young Sherlock looks down, and the loud alarm begins to blare again as he turns his head to look behind him.**

**In Magnussen’s room, adult Sherlock also turns around to where a row of panelled mirrors is behind him on the wall. Mycroft can be seen fuzzily reflected in the mirrors as if he is standing some distance away. Sherlock walks closer to the mirrors and looks in them.**

**MYCROFT (walking closer): If the bullet had passed through you, what would you have heard?**

**SHERLOCK: The mirror shattering.**

**MYCROFT: You didn’t. Therefore…?**

**Sherlock turns and slowly walks past him.**

**SHERLOCK: The bullet’s still inside me.**

**He walks back to his original position.**

**ANDERSON (offscreen): So, we need to take him down backwards.**

**MOLLY (standing in front of Sherlock again): I agree. Sherlock…**

**He turns his attention to her.**

**MOLLY: …you need to fall on your back.**

**ANDERSON (still behind him but now starting to walk around him to his right): Right now, the bullet is the cork in the bottle.**

**MOLLY (walking around Sherlock to his left as the alarm fades away again): The bullet itself is blocking most of the blood flow.**

**ANDERSON (coming to a halt in front of him and looking at him): But any pressure or impact on the entrance wound could dislodge it.**

**MOLLY (now standing behind Sherlock): Plus, on your back, gravity’s working for us.**

**The room takes on a blue hue.**

**MOLLY (firmly): Fall now.**

Anderson was back to his muttering. It had never been like this before when Sherlock was deducing the room, a person, or a case. Not until the wedding in the last episode when he’d been fully inside his mind palace, seeing Mycroft and John and Irene Adler. Was it due to his time away? Or because he was more _human_ now? Well, he couldn’t be more human, purely because of how he’d manipulated Janine, pulling her strings for an entire month just to break into Magnussen’s office.

The more important question, though, was would they be seeing more?

**Sherlock’s eyes half-close and his body begins to slump. In very slow-motion he starts to topple backwards. The room takes on its normal colour as he slowly falls back. He is falling towards the right-hand side of the room, and the entire room seems to tilt down towards the left as he goes. Mary and the kneeling Magnussen, still frozen in place with her pointing her pistol at him while she looks towards Sherlock, do not move as the room continues to tilt further to the left, but a plant in a plant pot on the windowsill begins to slide slowly across the sill towards the left side of the room.**

**Before he hits the floor, Sherlock is suddenly back in the bright white mortuary room, standing upright, and the alarm is blaring again. He stumbles back against the cabinets in the wall, claps his hands to his ears and cries out in alarm.**

**SHERLOCK: What the hell is that? What’s happening?**

**He lowers his hands and looks around in confusion. Beside him, one of the cabinet doors opens and the tray slides out. His own dead body is lying on the tray with his eyes closed. The ‘real’ Sherlock stares down at it in horror.**

**MOLLY (now standing on the other side of the tray): You’re going into shock.**

**Sherlock straightens up and stares at her wide-eyed.**

**MOLLY: It’s the next thing that’s going to kill you.**

**SHERLOCK: What do I do?**

**Mycroft is now standing where Molly was. Sherlock, still wide-eyed, lifts his head to meet his gaze.**

**MYCROFT: Don’t go into shock, obviously.**

“Well, that’s helpful,” John snarked. Mycroft glared at him.

**He looks around the room as the alarm blares on.**

**MYCROFT: Must be something in this ridiculous memory palace of yours that can calm you down.**

Anderson leaned forward, eager to learn more about Sherlock.

**He turns his head back to his brother and his last words echo.**

**MYCROFT’s VOICE (as an echo): …calm you down.**

**Sherlock stares at him.**

**MYCROFT: Find it.**

**Sherlock screws his eyes closed, and now he’s running in slow motion down the long staircase again.**

**MYCROFT (in the morgue): The East Wind is coming, Sherlock. (He raises his eyebrows at him as the alarm stops blaring.) It’s coming to get you.**

Mycroft’s entire body – which had only just relaxed – went rigid again. It went rigid enough for even John to glance over and ask if he was alright. Mycroft glared, ignoring the concern. His unfocused eyes locked determinedly on the screen, hoping to block out the world. He wouldn’t help but be haunted by a single question: would she be back?

**Elsewhere in his Mind Palace, Sherlock continues to stumble down the stairs and his own voice sounds in his head.**

“Oh. So those stairs from earlier were in his head. Should’ve guessed that,” Sally said.

**SHERLOCK’s VOICE (quiet but echoing): It’s coming to get you.**

**Without a transition, a door opens in front of him and Mary – wearing her wedding dress and with a white veil over her face – stands facing him aiming a pistol at him. She fires and Sherlock screams and falls backwards in slow-motion.**

**Before he hits the floor, he’s suddenly in a long corridor lined with wooden doors. Mycroft’s voice sounds in his head as he races along the corridor.**

**MYCROFT’s VOICE: Find it.**

**Sherlock runs to a nearby door and pulls it open. White light floods out and then he’s in another similar corridor. Lying on the floor a short distance away is a dog – an Irish setter – panting and looking towards him.**

“He had a dog?” Sally frowned.

Lestrade frowned, too, but for a different reason. Was that the big secret? No. It couldn’t be. Mycroft’s ticks wouldn’t reveal a childhood dog of all things; it didn’t make sense. What could be so important about this dog?

A new thought struck him just then.

This whole thing started – or, at least, he’d started noticing it – during the Hounds of Baskerville case. What if it wasn’t to do with the dog, but the memories? He’d seen Mycroft shift, twitch, and fumble (as much as Mycroft did such things) whenever they’d talked about repressed memories. Was this dog part of it? Did Sherlock even have a dog? Or was there something deeper?

Before Lestrade could dive further down that rabbit hole, he glanced up. Molly’s hand was on his shoulder. “I’m fine,” he said, coughing awkwardly.

**SHERLOCK: Hello, Redbeard. Here, boy. Come on!**

**He leans down and pats the top of his legs repeatedly, smiling at his dog. The dog sits up.**

**SHERLOCK: Come to me. It’s okay. It’s all right.**

**The dog starts to trot along the corridor towards him; and now Sherlock is his younger self again, patting his legs and calling to his dog.**

**YOUNG SHERLOCK: Come on! It’s me! It’s me, come on!**

**The dog breaks into a run, barking as he continues onwards.**

**Adult Sherlock is now squatting in the middle of the corridor, smiling with delight, and still patting his legs encouragingly as the dog runs towards him.**

**SHERLOCK: Come on!**

**YOUNG SHERLOCK: Good boy! Clever boy!**

Mrs. Hudson sniffed, dabbing her eyes.

**The barking dog reaches the boy, who kneels down smiling happily and starts stroking his head and ears.**

**The dog has also reached the adult Sherlock and is licking his face while Sherlock strokes his head and ears.**

**SHERLOCK: Hello, Redbeard. They’re putting me down too, now. It’s no fun, is it?**

“That’s so sad,” Anderson said. “His childhood friend was put down?”

If only he knew how true his words were…

**He slumps down onto his backside, looking weak and disorientated.**

**SHERLOCK (weakly): Redbeard.**

**The dog barks and Sherlock falls backwards to the floor.**

**In Magnussen’s flat, Sherlock continues his slow-motion fall backwards and finally lands on the carpet staring upwards blankly.**

**MOLLY (offscreen): Without the shock, you’re going to feel the pain.**

**In Redbeard’s corridor, she is standing some distance away from Sherlock while he convulses on the floor, his eyes wide and his teeth clenched. Molly looks towards him, her face serious.**

**MOLLY: There’s a hole ripped through you. Massive internal bleeding.**

**Sherlock continues to convulse, his face contorted in agony and his mouth open. He screams although the scream is muted to our ears.**

**MOLLY: You have to control the pain.**

**And now Sherlock is running down the stairs again.**

“He’s there again. Where is he going?” Anderson wondered, quietly, to himself.

**He reaches the bottom and, screaming in pain, runs through a door into a padded cell. The room is circular and about twenty feet in diameter. The floor is plain concrete, and the walls are heavily padded with dirty greyish-brown material. On the opposite side of the cell to the door, a man crouches on the floor, leaning against the wall with his head lowered. The door closes behind Sherlock and he flattens himself against the wall beside it, convulsing and crying out in pain. He stares upwards, his eyes red-rimmed.**

Molly frowned. Sherlock was in a padded cell. That meant he had a padded cell in his Mind Palace, somewhere deep down. How? Couldn’t he only project places that were real? Places that he’d been? When had he been in a padded cell? Dark thoughts hurried in, bringing with them the uncertainty of the two years Sherlock was officially dead.

Anderson interrupted her downward spiral.

“Who is that guy?”

Everyone leaned closer. He looked familiar. His body shape struck a chord in her memory, but she couldn’t be sure without seeing his face.

“Moriarty,” John growled.

That confirmed her suspicions because of course it was Moriarty. Of course that monster of a man would have a special place deep within Sherlock’s mind, locked away exactly where he belonged.

**SHERLOCK: Control! Control! Control.**

**His voice quietens a little with each repeat. On the other side of the room, the man – who we now see is wearing a filthy white straitjacket and who has a large metal collar around his neck with a heavy chain fastened to it – slowly turns his head a little towards Sherlock. His face still cannot be seen but his breathing is very loud. Sherlock stares at him, his eyes wide and his teeth bared.**

**SHERLOCK (straightening up and leaning up from the wall): You.**

**Breathing heavily, he takes a couple of steps forward.**

**SHERLOCK: You never felt pain, did you? Why did you never feel pain?**

**JIM MORIARTY (slowly turning his head more): You always feel it, Sherlock.**

**He turns his head some more and looks across at Sherlock, his face murderous. His face is dirty, and it is flushed dark red with rage. Sherlock stares back at him.**

**The lights around the walls flicker briefly and Jim surges up and charges towards him, his mouth wide and roaring with fury. Sherlock recoils but just before Jim can crash into him the chain on his collar, fastened to the wall behind him, reaches its full length and prevents him from going further. He shouts manically into Sherlock’s face.**

**JIM: But you don’t have to fear it!**

So…even Moriarty was helping Sherlock survive. What irony. Lestrade could almost laugh. Moriarty, who’d tried to kill Sherlock, was now here, helping him survive. Helping him live.

**Sherlock doubles over, crying out in agony. Jim stares at him, wide-eyed and insane, as Sherlock crumples slowly to his knees and then slumps over onto his back. Jim continues to stare down at him while Sherlock writhes.**

**JIM: Pain. Heartbreak. Loss.**

**Sherlock rolls onto his side, his face screwed tight and tears streaming from his eyes as he tries to fight the agony in his chest.**

**JIM (in an intense whisper): Death. It’s all good.**

**Sherlock convulses on the floor, moaning.**

Tears gathered in Molly’s eyes. She swiped a few tissues from Mrs. Hudson, seeing the others do the same, and blew her nose. The tissues were soaked through with tears within seconds.

**JIM (now on his knees beside him): It’s all good.**

**Sherlock lies on his back staring upwards and still convulsing.**

**JOHN’s VOICE: Sherlock?**

**In Magnussen’s room, John is on his knees beside Sherlock, gently patting his face.**

**JOHN: Sherlock?**

**He bends down to put his ear against Sherlock’s mouth.**

**JOHN: Can you hear me?**

**He lifts his head and looks across to Magnussen, who is lying on the floor on his side but now raises his head. There is no sign of Mary in the room.**

**JOHN: What happened?**

**MAGNUSSEN (weakly): He got shot.**

“Why didn’t she kill him?”

Everyone turned to the speaker in utter shock – mostly because it wasn’t Sally. They’d at least been expecting it from Sally.

Molly heaved, eyes red. Her cheeks were flushed with rage. “She should’ve killed him first! She should’ve killed that snake for everything he did!”

“Molly.” John grabbed her arms gently, holding them to his sides. He’d only just finished processing the fact that his future wife had shot Sherlock; he didn’t need to be diving back into those white-water rapids anytime soon. “Molly. She probably needed him alive; she probably didn’t know if he had failsafes set up in case that ever happened.”

She spun toward him furiously. “Of course you’d be defending her! I knew she was crooked since I first saw her! Didn’t I tell you?”

John stuttered, but luckily Lestrade was able to jump in.

“Molly, you’re upset. We understand. I’m sure it will all work out. Whoever brought us here wouldn’t force us to watch Sherlock die twice.” He hoped so, at least.

**JOHN (softly): Jesus.**

**He flips open Sherlock’s coat and sees a lot of blood on his shirt around the bullet wound.**

**JOHN: Sherlock! Oh, my…**

**Magnussen picks up his glasses which had fallen to the floor. John straightens up on his knees and reaches into his jeans pocket. He looks sternly across to Magnussen.**

**JOHN: Who shot him?**

**Magnussen sits up and puts on his glasses, then looks across at John but doesn’t reply. John has his phone to his ear and an operator speaks.**

**OPERATOR (over the phone): Emergency. Which service do you require?**

**Back in the padded cell, the lighting has turned a blue colour as Sherlock continues to convulse on the floor, his eyes wide. Beside him, Jim is back on his feet and he begins to sing slowly and softly.**

**JIM:** **♪** **It** **’** **s raining, it** **’** **s pouring. Sherlock is boring…** **♪**

**Sherlock sinks down on the floor, his convulsions beginning to slow. Jim crouches down near his head.**

**In the real world and outside the offices, an emergency siren sounds as paramedics wheel Sherlock on a stretcher towards a nearby ambulance. John is at his side.**

**JIM (in the cell, slowly, softly):** **♪** **I** **’** **m laughing, I** **’** **m crying…** **♪**

**He kneels down beside Sherlock, whose convulsions stop apart from an occasional twitch. His eyes gaze blankly upwards, then begin to close.**

**JIM (slowly, softly):** **♪** **…Sherlock is dying.** **♪**

Molly, though she’d calmed down slightly, still growled with the ferocity of a lion.

**The ambulance is now racing through the streets. In the back of it, a paramedic tears open Sherlock’s shirt. An oxygen mask has been strapped to his face. His eyes are closed.**

**JOHN: Sherlock.**

**He is sitting or kneeling behind the paramedic, looking at his friend with concern.**

**JOHN: We’re losing you. Sherlock?**

**Sherlock’s eyes crack open a little.**

**On his knees in the padded cell, Jim leans forward as far as his chain will let him and breathes out heavily into Sherlock’s face.**

**JIM (softly): Come on, Sherlock.**

**He lifts his head a little, spittle dribbling from his mouth.**

**JIM (softly): Just die, why can’t you?**

**He lies down on his side on the floor and puts his face close to Sherlock’s head.**

**JIM: One little push, and off you pop.**

**He turns onto his back and looks up.**

**In an operating theatre in a hospital, a heart monitor is letting out a single continuous tone and a flat line rolls across the screen.**

John’s hands dropped from Molly’s arms. “No! No, no, no! this can’t be real! He can’t die _again_! Not again…” he looked down.

**One of several surgeons surrounding the operating table does a few more heart compressions on Sherlock’s chest and then withdraws his hands. As the doctors turn away from the table, having clearly been trying to restart his heart for some time but now having decided that there is no point continuing, an overhead view of the operating table shows Sherlock, bare to the waist and with a breathing tube down his throat, lying with his eyes closed as the monitor’s single tone continues. The lights in the room seem to go out, leaving a single light shining down on his body.**

**In the padded cell, Jim is kneeling up and he talks conversationally as the monitor’s flatline tone can still be heard.**

**JIM: You’re gonna love being dead, Sherlock.**

**He looks down at Sherlock’s still form.**

**JIM: No-one ever bothers you.**

“John, look up. He’s not going to die.” Lestrade could barely get the words out past his tight throat and dry mouth. His chest was constricting, but he had to hold out hope.

“How do you know? How could you possibly know that?” John croaked.

Lestrade sighed. “look, if he was going to die, it would stop. Moriarty would stop. He wouldn’t still be there, speaking. We just…we have to believe that he’s going to pull through.”

John inhaled sharply. He sat up straighter, adjusting himself on the couch. “O-okay.”

**In the operating room, the overhead camera moves downwards towards Sherlock’s still body.**

**JIM (a little wide-eyed and manic): Mrs. Hudson will cry; and Mummy and Daddy will cry…**

**He is suddenly on his feet again and turns around and around on the spot until his chain stops him, then he rotates in the opposite direction.**

**JIM: …and The Woman will cry; and John will cry buckets and buckets. It’s him that I worry about the most. That wife!**

John’s fists clenched.

**He grimaces and blows out a noisy breath.**

**JIM: You’re letting him down, Sherlock. John Watson is definitely in danger.**

**On the floor of the cell, Sherlock’s eyes abruptly open. Jim slowly turns his head towards him as Sherlock stares upwards. Jim’s eyes widen as the lights around the room flash repeatedly. Sherlock convulses once and blinks, then sighs out a painful breath. Grimacing with the effort he starts to try and get up.**

**In the operating room, the single tone continues, and the monitor still shows a flat line.**

**Groaning, Sherlock slams his hand onto the floor of the cell and then forces himself onto one elbow. He raises his other arm and savagely punches the concrete floor with all his strength. Kneeling nearby, Jim looks down at him with an irritated look on his face.**

No one could speak. They couldn’t even move. They just watched, hearts strung open as Sherlock forcefully pushed himself back from death.

**JIM (tetchily): Oh, you’re not getting better, are you?**

**Sherlock hauls himself to his feet, then staggers and slumps back against the wall.**

**JIM: Was it something I said, huh?**

**He grins at him for a moment, then his smile fades as Sherlock glares back at him, breathing heavily and covered in sweat. Grunting with the effort, Sherlock pushes himself off the wall, turns to the door beside him and pushes it open.**

**SHERLOCK (frantically): John!**

John’s chest constricted, but not in pain. It was relief. A pure, tight pinch before everything released. Sherlock was going to be okay.

**Wide-eyed and looking panic-stricken, Jim screams out behind him.**

**JIM: SHERLOCK!**

“Ignore him… Just ignore him. Keep going, Sherlock. You can do it,” Molly was whispering. She twisted the tissues between her fingers, ripping them into tiny squares and ripping the tiny squares into smaller squares.

**He is alone in the room and the door is closed. He slumps down onto his knees against the wall, taking up the same position he was in when Sherlock first entered the room.**

**In the operating room, the camera continues to move downwards towards Sherlock’s still form.**

**In his Mind Palace, Sherlock takes hold of the bannister at the bottom of the stairs.**

**The camera moves downward in the operating room and the flatline continues on the monitor.**

**Sherlock begins to haul himself up the stairs. Grimacing in agony, he slams his right hand onto the bannister. In the operating room, the monitor gives a single blip and the index finger of Sherlock’s left hand twitches very slightly.**

**Sherlock continues his painful ascent up the stairs, leaning heavily on the bannisters or bracing himself against the wall. He cries out with the effort as he slams his hand down onto the bannister again.**

**The line on the heart monitor blips and shows its first spike. Simultaneously but offscreen, from the stairs Sherlock lets out an anguished groan of “John!” One of the surgeons slowly turns his head to look towards the monitor, and the lights in the operating theatre seem to come on again.**

**His face contorted in agony, Sherlock slumps against the bannisters as he continues upwards and he seems to hear John’s voice calling his name.**

**On the operating table, Sherlock’s left index finger lifts off the cover on which his hand is lying. The surgeon’s eyes widen and behind the mask, over his face, he seems to say the word, “What?!” All the staff in the room hurry back to the table.**

**Sherlock continues his climb, his right hand braced on the bannisters and the left dragging across the wall. The fingers of his left hand momentarily slide across the wallpaper of his living room in Baker Street. Now almost crawling, he reaches up and grabs the railings of the bannister as he drags himself upwards.**

**The surgeon looks across to one of his colleagues, his eyes wide as if he can’t believe what he is seeing.**

**His face contorted in concentration and agony, Sherlock grabs at the bannister with a loud cry as he continues to climb.**

**The heart monitor shows another spike and another blip can be heard.**

**The surgeon looks down at Sherlock again.**

**His determined gaze almost manic, Sherlock forces his hand upwards to clutch at the bannister and pull himself higher.**

**The heart monitor spikes and blips.**

**In his mind’s eye, Sherlock sees a rapid montage of images: several moments from when Magnussen showed him the edge of the papers in his jacket pocket in 221B’s living room; then Mary aiming her gun down at Magnussen in his flat before Sherlock knew who the potential killer was; then the front door to 221B. His inner vision closes in on the door and settles on it.**

**In the operating room, his eyelids begin to lift as the heart monitor’s blips become more regular. The surgeon looks down at him…**

**…and Sherlock Holmes opens his eyes.**

Cheers abruptly echo throughout the room.

**His gaze becomes more focussed, and his mouth begins to close around the tube in his mouth in an attempt to form a word. As the scene switches to the next one, a soft whisper can be heard.**

**SHERLOCK’s VOICE (offscreen, in a whisper): Mary.**

*****

**HOSPITAL. DAYTIME. Mary – now dressed more normally – hurries through the entrance and across the foyer. She runs up a flight of stairs to where John is waiting for her on the landing.**

“ _Her_ ,” Molly growled. Her hands jerked, decimating the clump of tissues yet again.

**JOHN: Mary.**

**He walks to meet her at the top of the stairs.**

**MARY: Hey.**

**JOHN (his voice full of relief): He’s only bloody woken up! He’s pulled through.**

**MARY (smiling): Really?! Seriously?**

**JOHN: Oh, you, Mrs. Watson… (he points at her, trying to look stern) …you’re in big trouble.**

Anderson’s jaw dropped. “Does he know?” He spun around, turning to John. “Do you _know_?”

“Of course, he doesn’t bloody know!” Lestrade roared. He stared at Anderson in disbelief, as if he couldn’t believe the thought would even cross Anderson’s mind.

“How would you know that?”

“For one, he’s not angry. He’s smiling for God’s sake!” Sally pointed out.

**Mary frowns at him, looking confused.**

**MARY: Really? Why?**

None of them missed the briefest flash of pure, unadulterated fear that appeared on her face before she schooled it back into regular confusion. The John on the screen obviously missed it, though, because he seemed unconcerned.

**JOHN: His first word when he woke up?**

**She shakes her head.**

**JOHN: “Mary”!**

**She giggles and he joins in with her laughter. They hug each other tightly.**

**MARY: Ahh!**

**Over John’s shoulder, her face becomes serious.**

*****

**APPLEDORE. Magnussen walks downstairs from the entrance hall, goes past the kitchen, into the glass-walled study and heads towards the wooden doors. He goes down the spiral staircase and through the library, his fingers raised and flickering towards the shelves.**

*****

**HOSPITAL ROOM. A drip hangs on a stand beside Sherlock’s bed where he lies with a nasal cannula on his face. A rotary fan is on the cabinet beside his bed and the shadow of its rotating blades flickers across his face.**

**MARY (softly, offscreen): You don’t tell him.**

**Sherlock opens his eyes with difficulty.**

**MARY (gently, sing-song): Sherlock?**

**He looks up to where he can see her standing beside his bed. His vision of her is blurry.**

**MARY: You don’t tell John.**

*****

**At the rear of the Appledore archive, Magnussen is looking at a folder that has one or two photographs of Mary paperclipped to the inside.**

**MAGNUSSEN (softly): Bad girl.**

**He smiles down at the file.**

**MAGNUSSEN (in an admiring tone): Bad, bad girl.**

**His smile widens.**

“Right,” Anderson mumbled, “I guess she couldn’t just kill him if she can’t get to that file.”

*****

**In Sherlock’s hospital room Mary leans down to him, her image still fuzzy.**

**MARY (in an intense whisper): Look at me – and tell me you’re not gonna tell him.**

**Sherlock’s vision becomes even more blurry and his eyes close.**

*****

The screen went black.

“That b****!” Sally shrieked.

_“Wow! That was a long scene. Such a rollercoaster, wasn’t it? I promise you that I don’t have any intention of emotionally torturing you with these scenes; that’s just how it plays out. I can’t help what happens in the future. Some things are beyond my control.”_

John scowled.

Meanwhile, Lestrade looked at Mycroft again. The other man had finally been able to relax – at least, from what Lestrade could tell. The man was always a mystery – always had been – but he was starting to feel closer to him. These episodes – as they’d taken to calling them – revealed a side of Mycroft that he’d never seen before under the icy exterior.

“Well, I’m not one for letting bad things weigh me down. Sherlock is safe now,” Mrs. Hudson said, blowing her nose with finality. “I think it’s sweet that he pulled himself back for John’s sake.”

John blushed. “Yeah. I’m just glad he’s okay now,” he said.

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


	62. 3x3 (Deleted Scene) His Last Vow

The next scene began slowly, quietly. So much so that they nearly missed it, had the screen not been so bright.

**HOSPITAL. Sherlock is lying barely conscious in bed, a nasal cannula on his face. His room is filled with vases of flowers. Magnussen walks to the door, opens it and comes in.**

Everyone recoiled at the sight of Magnussen. It seemed a natural reaction to him at this point. Why wasn’t anyone else there? Better yet, why hadn’t anyone stopped Magnussen from entering Sherlock’s room?

It was simple, really.

He was the Napoleon of Blackmail. No one could stop him from doing anything.

But Sherlock…he just looked so vulnerable.

John tensed. Where was he? Why hadn’t he been there to protect his friend? He didn’t even know what Magnussen was going to do, but he dreaded it.

**Sherlock’s eyes roll sideways, and he fuzzily sees the man standing in the doorway.**

**MAGNUSSEN: They’re not all from me.**

“What is he talking about?” Sally wondered.

“The flowers, I think. The ones in his room,” Molly replied. Her chest clenched, heart thudding in its best imitation of a hummingbird’s buzz.

**Sherlock turns his head slightly towards him as he closes the door. Magnussen points to one of the vases on the bureau.**

**MAGNUSSEN: The struggling carnations are from Scotland Yard.**

Lestrade frowned. Perhaps they’d given Sherlock the carnations a while ago. He’d have to remember to replace them often – even though he knew Sherlock would find them frivolous at best.

**He looks across to a rose on its own in another vase at the end of Sherlock’s bed.**

**MAGNUSSEN: And the single rose is from...**

**He walks closer and looks at the card propped up against the vase.**

**MAGNUSSEN: ... ‘W’.**

**He sounds intrigued as he looks at the large letter ‘W’ on the card.**

“‘W’?” Anderson’s eyebrows leapt up.

“Who is that from?” Sally asked simultaneously.

Lestrade sent John a sly look. “Perhaps…John _Watson_?”

John sent him a withering look. “Like I’d send him a rose. I’m not gay and you know he hates sentimentality.”

Lestrade shrugged. “Fine.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Did you not, perhaps, consider that the rose is from Miss Adler overseas? We did see that Sherlock helped her to survive, did we not?”

Lestrade brought his palm to his forehead. “Oh, right. _The_ _Woman_. I guess it seems her style.”

**MAGNUSSEN (pointing to more flowers on the other side of the bed): And the black wreath – C Block, Pentonville. I’m not sure the intent was entirely kindly.**

**He sits on the chair to the right of Sherlock’s bedside. Looking down, he puts his left hand on Sherlock’s forearm and runs his right hand up and down the back of Sherlock’s hand.**

Mycroft inhaled sharply, glaring at the screen with such intensity that John wouldn’t be surprised if it spontaneously burst into flames. His own glare – nor Molly’s, nor Lestrade’s, nor Mrs. Hudson’s – held a candle to the hate in Mycroft’s eyes.

**MAGNUSSEN: Oh, I covet your hands, Mr. Holmes; though since you’ve survived, I suppose you get to keep them.**

**He moves his left hand to Sherlock’s wrist and lifts it a few inches off the bed.**

Mycroft’s second cup of tea shattered. It was automatically replaced with a new one, though the mug sat almost an entire foot away from him, on a small side table.

**MAGNUSSEN: Look at them.**

**He takes the pulse oximeter from Sherlock’s finger and puts it onto the bed, then puts the backs of his own fingers under Sherlock’s before running his fingertips over the top.**

Molly was livid.

Sally furrowed her eyebrows. “Shouldn’t that have done something? Taking off his oximeter, I mean? He was under observation after all.”

“Even if it had, who’s to say that Magnussen didn’t do something to make sure no one came in?” Anderson muttered to her. His eyes, strangely, had lost their light, downcast toward the floor. He’d changed so fast – from hating the man to worshipping him, and now, it was painful to see Sherlock be so vulnerable. He was at the mercy of that slimy man.

**MAGNUSSEN: The musician’s hands.**

**He moves his hand down to gently hold the end of Sherlock’s fingers.**

**MAGNUSSEN: An artist’s.**

**He leans forward, opens his mouth slightly and presses it against the back of Sherlock’s hand. After a moment he lifts his head and looks at Sherlock, whose breathing deepens a little while he looks back at the fuzzy image of the man.**

**MAGNUSSEN: Or a woman’s?**

**Sherlock manages to pull his hand free. Magnussen lets it go and it flops onto the bed. Magnussen rubs his own hands together.**

**MAGNUSSEN: Apologies for the dampness of my touch.**

**He sits back a little, still looking at Sherlock’s face.**

**MAGNUSSEN: You’ll get used to it.**

The implications of that line drew shivers up all of their backs – shivers of disgust.

**Sherlock continues to breathe deeply.**

**MAGNUSSEN: Having shot you, the woman you know as Mary Watson left without killing me.**

**He picks up the pulse oximeter and clips it back onto Sherlock’s middle finger.**

**MAGNUSSEN: ... which is odd, because that was the reason she came.**

**He stands up, steps closer to the top of the bed and slowly bends down, bringing his mouth very close to Sherlock’s face. Sherlock’s breathing deepens even more.**

The mug smashed again, but as everyone looked over to Mycroft, they saw him staring at Molly. She’d reached over him for something to break – which of course meant that his fresh tea was fated to stain the carpet even more until it was cleaned and replaced with a new mug.

**MAGNUSSEN (softly): I didn’t pass on her identity to the police. Information like that is just too ...**

**He runs his nose over the end of Sherlock’s. Again, Sherlock’s breathing sharpens.**

**MAGNUSSEN: ... malleable to be shared.**

**Sherlock stares up at him, his pupils almost pinpricks.**

**MAGNUSSEN: Wouldn’t you agree?**

**Sherlock’s eyes flicker and begin to close. Magnussen straightens up and leaves the room. Sherlock’s eyes open a little for a moment, and then close.**

And just like that, it was over.

“Wait. What was that?” Anderson shot up from his chair. “That was barely two minutes!”

Thankfully, he was answered immediately. _“As you all understand that your lives are actually part of a television series for the entertainment of myself and my colleagues, this is what we would call a ‘deleted scene’. Don’t worry, we shall continue as scheduled very soon.”_

Anderson threw his hands up in the air. “Well, it’s official. Our lives _are_ a series on the telly.”

*******

**~CSP2708~**

**Carolin S. Petersen**


End file.
